


Baskerville Breach

by LegoLock



Series: Breach [1]
Category: SCP Containment Breach - Fandom, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Crossover, Fawnlock, M/M, Mild Gore, Suggestive Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-11 19:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegoLock/pseuds/LegoLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson finds himself in the depths of hell...a SCP facility by the name of Baskerville. He shouldn't be there, but he is and he's doomed to die. However, escape presents itself during a routine experiment when there is a massive breach that sends Baskerville into lockdown. His life hangs in the balance and his only chance is to escape now, but he can't do it alone. He must put his trust in one of the very creatures that might kill him...the intelligent and dangerous SCP...Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Last Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Baskerville Breach- TŁUMACZENIE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645354) by [Toootie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toootie/pseuds/Toootie)
  * Translation into Polski available: [Baskerville Breach- TŁUMACZENIE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831664) by [Toootie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toootie/pseuds/Toootie)



> So, just a little note before you start. This is loosely based on the game SCP Containment Breach. If you haven't heard of it...I suggest looking it up because it's hard to explain. But the gist is that things that go bump in the night are housed there and bad stuff goes down. I decided Baskerville would be a good place to put it, but I'm just basically using the name more than anything. It's not the Baskerville we all know from Sherlock...but I'll explain later. And for the record, the fawnlock I talk about is based on the work done by mah-blackberreh (go check them out here: http://mah-blackberreh.tumblr.com/), only the appearance however. I don't take credit for it, I just loved the image and thought that particular fawnlock would be a great SCP, my description isn't very exact and I hardly do justice to the actual image. His back story is not the same either. All the credit for the inspiration for this particular fawnlock goes to them, though! Anyway...a lot of things I'm just making up because I can. So it's all a huge mess of confusing details and probably doesn't make any sense...but enjoy it anyway! Or don't...I can't make you enjoy it.
> 
> (Disclaimer: Sherlock and the works don't belong to me, I'd like them to, but they don't. Nor do I own SCP Containment Breach or the fawnlock, as mentioned above.)

There was a throaty hydraulic hiss as the door to his stark, white, cell opened. The guards in white uniforms remained outside in the brightly lit hall, their assault rifles at the ready. One with a visor stepped forward into the doorway, “Get up.” His voice was hard and impersonal, but it held an edge of mocking kindness.

The man within the cell was on his hard, small, bed with his back turned to the guards. He had curled up into a near fetal position. He was clad in a sickening orange jumpsuit with his identification stitched neatly on each sleeve. _D-9340_. He shook his head, almost pleading. He wanted out of this hellhole facility they called _'Baskerville'_. He used to work there, outside of course. He was the site doctor. He'd never actually gone into Baskerville, but he grew increasingly curious about what went on inside it with ever odd injury he was presented with. Or...dead body. He started asking questions and he started to find answers he didn't agree with. Unfortunately, he accidentally witnessed some tests and was spotted as he tried to leave. They didn't take kindly to it to say the least. That had happened almost a month ago and in that time he'd endured things he didn't want to think about...but he couldn't forget. The trauma was set in his mind so deeply that no amount of therapy would ever make him right. Not that he imagined he'd ever see a therapist...being held captive and all.

“This isn’t a negotiation…” The guard’s voice didn’t raise, nor did the tone sound anything but pleasant. “So…Get. The. Fuck. Up. _Now_.” Punctuating each word to illustrate that non-compliance wasn’t going to get him anywhere, “Because you _really_ don’t want me to make you, do you?”

D-9340 took a shuddering breath, it was damn close to a sob. But he wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Slowly…he rolled over and sat up. His blonde hair, once cropped short in classic military fashion, was shaggy. Not so shaggy that it hung down in his face, but shaggy enough to give him a very rugged appearance. His face, normally clean shaven, was dusted with a scruffy beard. He needed to shave…he could shave…but he hadn’t. His blue eyes were bloodshot, with puffy eyelids, and dark circles under them. He didn’t sleep much…it was hard to sleep with all the testing. The guards waited…and slowly he gained his feet…a full head shorter than the nearest guard, but he looked more then capable of taking on the tallest man without any trouble.

The white clad guard gestured him out with an unpleasant grin, muttering something about D-9340 being a _‘good sport’._ The blonde man didn’t really listen, looking at the guards as they watched his every move. He slowly stepped out of the cell and held up his wrists quietly as they produced a standard pair of handcuffs. They didn’t trust him…he didn’t blame them. When the cuffs were locked, he was led down the corridor and through a nauseating series of halls, he didn’t pay much attention, his head down and face pale.

They reached a final door, which he was motioned through. Once he would have asked them to remove the cuffs…but after a few initial escape attempts during his first days in the facility he’d lost that privilege. He stepped inside and the door hissed closed behind him. D-9340 stared silently at the other two Class-D ‘Personnel’ (test subjects really) that stood within the room. Unlike him, they were likely former death row inmates. He'd gathered that Baskerville preferred to use them since no one would care if they died. They lingered in the centre of the room, watching the guards that patrolled above them on a grated catwalk. A huge hanger door consumed the other wall across from the raised catwalk.

_“Class-D Personnel face the door.”_

In unison, all three turned to the large hanger door as it began to open slowly.

_“SCP one-seven-three cannot move when in direct line of sight…Class-D Personnel are advised not to look away from SCP one-seven-three. SCP one-seven-three is considered extremely dangerous…and lethal. You are advised to warn your companions if you’re about to blink. Keep SCP one-seven-three in your sights.”_

D-9340 didn’t know much about this particular SCP, he’d seen a few other ones in his time at the facility, but this one was new to him. The SCP was in the far corner, facing the wall. The blonde man felt a tingle of fear as he stared at it. It looked like a statue made of concrete. Like a thin teddy with a bulbous head and no ears. It was a grotesque creamy-grey colour…he could not yet see the thing’s face. There appeared to be a pool of blood on the floor at the feet of SCP-173.

_“Class-D Personnel enter SCP one-seven-three's containment chamber.”_

The three didn’t refuse…they’d be gunned down if they refused. They’d die refusing or they’d die doing this experiment…maybe. There was always a chance to live if they played along, but he was starting to get the feeling that this was one experiment he might not be meant to survive. Slowly, the three men walked into the chamber, staring at the statue that faced the far wall. It looked…it looked terrible. It didn’t move though. Not one inch. One of the other Class-D Personnel murmured about blinking, so he made sure he didn’t. He found himself unable to as he stared at SCP-173. Tremors of fear moved through him…he wasn’t feeling good about this.

The door hissed and groaned, but didn’t shut.

“ _Please maintain eye contact with SCP one-seven-three.”_ The voice on the intercom seemed a bit…uneasy. _“There appears to be something wrong with the door…”_

D-9340 swallowed, tempted to look back…but he didn’t dare for fear of the SCP moving…it would kill them without a doubt. The door groaned again before sirens started to go off and the lights dimmed. Panic flared in his chest, _‘Please, God, no…’_ He prayed mentally, _‘Not the lights…’_

The lights didn’t quite flicker, so the statue was still in sight. To his left, he could hear the erratic breathing of the other subjects. They were desperately hoping, just like him, that the lights would stay on. He was about to suggest backing away slowly when the lights flickered off. It was only dark for a moment…but the statue moved. He heard the scream and looked over in time to see blood dripping from the statue’s horrifying face. Black orbs below green ones outlined in red. Were they eyes? Between the 'eyes' was a gaping mouth that stretched vertically to it’s forehead…lined with bloody, jagged, teeth. A smaller, but no less toothy, mouth below...also outlined in red.

One of the men was dead on the floor. The other was screaming and starting to turn away! “No!” D-9340 screamed, but the lights flickered again and he heard concrete scrape the floor. His legs started turning and he bolted towards the entrance doorway. The screams of the other man were cut short…a burst of gunfire punctuated the next flicker of lights…more screaming. He slammed into the wall by the door as the gunshots grew more desperate. The man jammed the button and the door slide open, a blaring voice started to shout over the system intercom as the lights finally flickered off entirely.

 _**“** _ _**The site is experiencing multiple Keter and Euclid level containment breaches! Full site lockdown initiated! Full site lockdown…”** _

The door hissed shut behind him as the voice continued to blare overhead. There was screaming and gunshots and mass confusion in the near pitch blackness of the halls. He didn’t stop, running down the hall and into the first open doorway he came to, crouching low against the wall to try and catch his breath.

“ _Nononononono…”_ He whimpered silently, “Oh, God, no! This can’t be happening!” He panted and tucked his head into his knees, shaking and struggling for breath. Just listening for a long time until the blaring voice died…and then there was horrible silence. It was so much worse than the chaos.

As the silence washed over him, the reality of his situation began to sink in. This was where all the creatures that scared people as kids ended up. Everything that went bump in the night, that jumped out from under beds...anything sick and twisted and evil. This was where everything that could kill you…would. No questions asked, no missions, no morals. They killed for the sake of killing…and he was stuck in the depths of the place.

He _needed_ to get out.

D-9340 slowly composed himself before looking around the room he’d taken refuge in. On the low shelving on the far wall was a gas-mask. He didn’t know if he’d need it, but if it was there…he might as well take it. Slowly, he unfurled from the wall and started to crawl towards the shelf, keeping low in case SCP-173 was lingering nearby. Not that he suspected it would matter…but it made him feel better.

It took him a few minutes to slip the mask on top of his head with his hands still cuffed together. But at least it was at the ready on the top of his head and all he had to do was slide it down on his face if he needed it. He examined the rest of the room…picking up a key card from the desk and a few batteries, shoving both into the deep pockets of his jumpsuit. Then, with agonizingly slow steps…he eased out of the room, looking left and right. No sign of _anyone_. How did he get out of this hellhole?

The blonde man swallowed hard and started to the right…away from the direction of SCP-173. Or so he hoped…it could be anywhere now. He walked down the hall, constantly checking as he moved. The silence was killing him and his own footsteps were like thunder. He passed through another set of doors and paused, looking at a small screen on the wall. He was surprised it still worked as most of the power seemed to be out...maybe it was an emergency system? Like what ran the doors? It showed a room that was lit with a  horrible crimson emergency light…it cast the tiny room on the screen in an eerie glow. The doors were being sprayed down constantly by a black mist. He didn’t know what the mist was…nothing said it was poisonous, all it said on the wall was 'Decontamination Chamber'. He swallowed and stared a long time at the screen before moving towards the button that controlled the doors. It said it was time controlled so he mentally tried to map where the door was across the room.

D-9340 pressed the button and ran through the room, instantly regretting not wearing the mask as the mist stung his eyes. In fact…they burned and blurred so he ran, full tilt, into the wall. He blinked rapidly as he stumbled, hearing a beeping that made him panic. _The door!_ He lunged for the bleary blob of black mist and through the door just as it slammed shut, scarping along the back of his jumpsuit. D-9340 panted and gasped, shaking as he crouched against the closed door with tears streaming down his face.

Lesson learned…he’d wear the mask around the black mist again. He continued to blink rapidly and stream tears for another five minutes before he could start to see beyond blurred images. In another two after that he was slowly gaining his feet to start out of the decontamination area and down another darkened hall. His progress was much slower…more careful. He spotted another side room without a door, so he entered and started pilfering anything of use. He was hoping for keys or tools to get the cuffs off, but doubting he’d find any.

There was a discarded protein bar…at least he had something to eat if he couldn’t escape right away. And a small device that looked like a GPS for a car. The _S-Nav 300_. He turned it over in his hands before pressing the power button. **‘** _ **UNA**_ _ **BLE TO CONNECT TO THE MAP DATABASE!’** _ flashed across the screen so he turned it over and fiddled with the backing to try replacing the batteries with some he’d found. And then he tried it again. The S-Nav beeped once and flickered to life, showing him a crude looking map of his immediate surroundings. Well…it wasn’t great but it would have to work.

With much deliberation he started back into the hall, looking around and starting forward with his map in hand. He hadn’t gone all that far when he heard the distant sound of a door sliding open behind him. He spun and stared down the darkened hall, “H-hello?” His voice rasped in his ears in the silence of the hall. He could hear concrete scraping on the floor...SCP-173. A spike of fear shot down his spine and he had to force himself not to turn and run. He struggled to keep his eyes open, staring down the hall as he started to back away rapidly. He could hear the dragging of concrete as the creature moved…clearly he couldn’t see it in the gloom so the monster could move.

His eyes still stung slightly from the decontaminating mist, making him desperate to blink. He swallowed as his eyes watered from the strain. Suddenly, his back thumped into a solid door. Awkwardly, he struggled to press the button, but it beeped at him angrily. He kept jabbing the button desperately as his breathing grew harsh. The scraping noise stopping. SCP-173 was just barely in sight. He could make out the outline in the shadows. It was waiting. _He was trapped._

The door needed a key card. He struggled to reach the one in his pocket, praying it worked. SCP-173 just stared at him, waiting. It was just waiting. His eyes burned, the lids trembling as he fumbled with the card, holding it out to the scan pad and praying it worked. He needed to shut his eyes desperately. For a moment, he was certain the card wouldn’t work…but the door suddenly hissed open behind him and he stumbled back into the dimly lit room beyond. It beeped once more and hissed shut with an affirmative locking sound. Almost as soon as the door shut…he blinked. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gasped and trembled.

A sudden scratching against the metallic door nearly made him scream. It was trying to get in! The door beeped as the creature pressed the button, but thankfully it stayed closed. SCP-173 continued to scratch at the door once it realized it couldn't open it. The sound was horrible…it grated in his ears and sent tremors down his spine.

“N-no… _fuck_ …fuck off!” D-3940 shouted, probably not a wise choice, but he couldn’t help it. He backed away from the door and slammed into the hard wall behind him. His knees went weak as the scratching grew louder and he sunk down, trying to cover his ears with his hand as he pressed his forehead to his knees, shaking. “J-just go away…please…”

It seemed like an eternity before the scraping stopped, whether that meant SCP-173 left or not he didn’t know…but he wasn’t about to open the door and find out. Remaining curled up in his ball and trying to gather his dwindling sanity.

He’d survived the initial breach. He could find a way out…he _would_ find a way out. He removed his hands from his ears slowly and lifted his head to examine his new surroundings. Much to his horror...he realized the room was actually a SCP containment chamber. There was an information card on the wall near the desk.

The man swallowed hard, afraid to look any further in the room. A tapping directly behind him and over his head made him jump, scurrying to his feet and spinning to face his latest nightmare. However…his terror was replaced with…confusion. Staring at him, through the thick glass wall of the containment chamber, was a creature that didn’t look like it belonged in the facility at all. It (he…it was definitely all male) looked like it belonged in a children’s storybook.

The creature that stood staring at him was a hybrid..a mashing of man and deer. He was tall, a foot taller than the blonde man, but he was slender. His whole body was covered in a soft looking coat of thick fur. Mostly, the shiny coat was black, but on his belly; chest; along the inside of his arms; the palms of his hands; a portion of his inner thighs; and his throat his fur was stark white. There was a mottling of the colours were they met. His face was also mostly white, but light black dots shaded his eyes and his nose was tipped with black as well. His torso appeared mostly human…his arms where lengthy and his fingers were nimble, but his elbows were tufted with fur. His legs, long and sleek, appeared to be some sort of deer legs. However, unlike any deer that the man had seen before, there were long curly tufts of fur that feathered around the cloven hooves.

D-9340 couldn’t help but look at the shaggy, thick, patch of fur that travelled from the bottom of the creature's navel to somewhere between his thighs. Obviously it hid whatever genitalia, beast or man, the creature had. And the tail…it was long…as long as the creature was tall. It would have seemed obscenely long, but somehow it suited this beast. Towards the end the tail feathered and fluffed with more curly fur. And his face…it looked too human…but the nose was flatter and wider…and very beastly in nature. His ears…they were still in the position of human ears, but they were clearly an animal’s set. They were long…and rounded and furry with white tips, both were currently focused on the blonde man like any animal's would be. His eyes were a terrifying bright blue…they almost seemed to glow and he had a mop of curly black hair which looked very unkempt, but handsome. The creature also had a set of magnificent antlers. They were jet black and more than two feet high, branching out gloriously and glinting magically. Those antlers would be the pride and joy of any hunter, of that the blonde man was certain.

For a moment…the blonde man just stared. Could it get loose? Was it dangerous? He shifted nervously, looking away and then back. The odd creature watched him, as if critically examining his every move. Then, slowly, he tilted his ears back to a more relaxed posture, his long tail turned lazily on the floor, and he pointed to the control panel on the wall next to the glass chamber. The blonde man looked in the direction of the panel, hesitating before slowly walking over and looking at the buttons, one was simply labelled **‘TALK’**. He hesitated once more, glancing back to the strange beast man…who merely raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘What are you waiting for?’

So, with much trepidation, D-9340 pressed the button down. There was a faint buzz and pop as the intercom for the room came on.

“Uh…h-hello?”


	2. A Test Subject

_"Uh…h-hello?”_

A feline-like smile touched the deer man’s lips, “You’re a Class-D _Test Subject_. You shouldn’t have made it this far…how interesting that you did…” His voice was a stunningly deep baritone that, even though it was muffled and indistinct in the intercom, caught the blonde off-guard. “You’re also restrained. Which means you’re either a little less than sane…or you’re a fighter. Not a crude brawler, someone trained to fight…and very well if they didn’t trust you to go out of your cell without handcuffs. Military? Yes…I’d say so. But not an infantryman…a doctor?  Ah yes…a military doctor!”

“H-how…?” The man’s voice was raspy, confused and awed.

“It’s all rather obvious…your whole bearing and the fact that you survived the initial breach.” The creature waved a hand idly as if it was nothing. “I could go on at length, but I suspect now is not the best time…if you plan to escape alive that is?”

The blonde man frowned and glanced to the doorway, “You don’t think I’ll make it?”

“I know you won’t.” Blue eyes practically glowing, “Not unless you take me with you.”

Silence hung between them for a moment…and then another. D-9340 was weighing his options. Did the beast man know how to get out of the facility? Would he help? Could he be trusted? What choice did he have?

“How do I…open your door?” The words were barely above a whisper, but he knew he’d been heard.

“There’s a panel on the door, here…let me see the card you used to get in…hm…yes, that will do. Press S…Four…Eight…no… _Eight!_ Start over…S…Four…Eight…P. Now swipe the card…”

There was a quiet beeping from the keypad as he swiped the card, looking up as the thick glass door slid back and then slowly to one side. His heart was in his throat, watching the creature step from the containment cell…right next to him.

The deer man looked to him, his tail curling slowly behind him as he stared. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes.”

The blonde man didn’t move, meeting the critical gaze evenly before he swallowed hard and offered his hand to shake, a little awkwardly with the cuffs still in place. “John…John Watson.”

The creature paused and then took his hand, the fur was velvety soft. “Sherlock Holmes.”

John wasn’t sure he could trust this creature called Sherlock, but he was willing to try anything if it got him out of his current state of affairs. Sherlock changed his grip as he examined the cuffs, turning John’s wrist a few different ways before he huffed quietly and turned away to retrieve a few paperclips from a nearby stack of files.

“That isn’t going to work.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

John blushed faintly, “No…but it can’t be that easy!”

Sherlock just snorted and pulled John’s wrists up, he threaded two of the paperclips into the keyhole…and then another…fidgeting with them until John felt the cuff loosen and fall away. He stared…a bit stunned and embarrassed. But Sherlock didn’t comment, merely freeing the other wrist before tossing the cuffs aside. John rubbed his wrists and murmured a thanks.

“We should get going.” Sherlock said, motioning to the door.

“But…that thing…it’s out there.” John shuddered.

The deer man paused, “ _Thing?_ The thing that made you curl up and ignore me for the better part of an hour?” He glanced to the door and then back to John, “What is it called, do you know?”

John swallowed and tried to focus, “SCP…um…one....one-seven-three…I think.”

Sherlock’s lips thinned and his ears perked, he tilted his head in thought and after a moment he nodded. “Open the door…you look left and I’ll look right…assuming it is not facing the door directly…” Motioning John to open the door as he took up his place. “And _don’t_ blink.”

“Yeah…I got that…” John muttered as he waved the key card over the electronic reader.

The door swished open…showing only a darkened hallway beyond it. John swallowed hard, turning in time with Sherlock to glance into the hall on either side of the doorway. He didn’t see it, there was only another closed door on his side.

“Not here.” The man confirmed softly.

Sherlock grunted, “Obviously.” His tail whipped around John’s waist, “It’s here.”

John swallowed and blinked before he carefully turned. Once again seeing the horrible statue. It was too close for John’s liking…watching them with its black beady eyes. Sherlock continued to stare at it evenly.

“We must go that way…” Sherlock said as he pointed past SCP-173 and into the gloom, “There is another locking door down there we need to get to.” He paused, “Do you need to blink?”

John’s eyes were glued to the horrible SCP and his breathe was beginning to quicken, but he nodded. “Yes.”

“Go ahead.”

John did so and then renewed his horrified stare, but feeling a bit comforted that Sherlock was there…and helping. John supposed it made sense for Sherlock to help...since SCP-173 would probably kill anything. The deer man motioned for John to shuffle by, neither one facing away from SCP-173. They backed into the dark hall carefully. John blinked a handful of times as they backed away down the hall, Sherlock didn’t seem to need to blink at all. His ears perked as they lost sight of the statue in the gloom, “It’s moving.” He informed John, but the man could also hear the scuffling of concrete dragging on the floor.

He trembled and fought the urge to bolt. Sherlock seemed calm and collected, his tail flicked against John as they walked backward. Any other time, John might have been annoyed with the constant flick, but it assured him that Sherlock was there next to him. Their progress was slow…and took nearly a full five minutes to get to the end of the hall where the locked door waited. John’s eyes burned even thought he'd blinked often, he could only imagine how Sherlock felt. But, to his credit, the deer-man didn’t complain.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to unlock and then lock the door before he showed any signs of weariness. Rubbing his eyes and keeping them closed for several long seconds. “That should keep it occupied for a little while.”

John flinched as he heard the scraping again, he really hated that sound. Eventually, he managed a nod and forced himself to turn away. The room they had entered reminded John of an office building. It was filled with cubicals…though some had been knocked over…and there were papers scattered everywhere. John saw a dark spot on the floor ahead…a blood trail. He swallowed hard and looked away, clearly they weren’t safe anywhere…but at least SCP-173 wasn’t able to follow them.

“So…how did you end up here?” John finally asked as he and Sherlock started to explore the room for anything useful. “No offense…but you don’t look like you belong here.” Pocketing another set of batteries.

Sherlock rummaged around a cubical, his antlers just visible over the top. “Because I look like an innocent and fluffy creature?” John didn’t get a chance to respond, “Make no mistake, John, I’m just as dangerous as any other SCP here…that’s why I’m _here_. They moved all of us to Baskerville because of recent break-ins at other facilities…so any SCP’s that were seen as extreme dangers to the human population were moved here for _'safe keeping'_.” Lifting his head as he held up a lengthy blue scarf, examining it carefully before he wrapped it around his neck.

“That’s not what I meant, Sherlock.” John sighed as he looked over, “I mean…what…makes you so dangerous?”

The deer man paused, looking at John in an almost predatory manner. “There are places which parallel this dimension…places you _humans_ have been to without understanding. You give them names and meanings…as if you know what they are. But you don’t…you don’t have a clue.” Sherlock hissed as he stalked towards John slowly, John could feel a bead of nervous sweat forming on his neck. “There is a dimension where…fire…and darkness are one. Where torment and death are daily. The air is putrid and scalding. Nothing…grows…the water…is toxic. The creatures… _are beautiful_. Gentle looking…if not a little bizarre to you humans.” Stepping closer to John with every word, his eyes freezing the man in place. “Creatures which are ever present in your human lore…creatures which lure humans to their deaths. Creatures that feed on human flesh…” He stopped, standing so close that John could feel heat radiating off his fur, adding to his discomfort as he felt more sweat beading his brow. Sherlock stooped slightly, his lip curling to show John the sharp canines he’d missed before. “I may be on side of _angels_ , John…but never mistake me for one of them.” With that said, Sherlock turned and resumed his searching as if nothing were wrong.

John shuddered, shaking from the trance and swallowing hard. Sweat beaded on his neck and he turned away, unzipping the jumpsuit so it hung around his hips as he tried to regain his composure. He was second guessing trusting Sherlock so readily with this sudden revelation. He gripped the front of his white t-shirt and fanned it a bit to settle himself. He'd been in a constant level of panic since the start of the breach and he wasn't sure he'd last long at this rate.

“So…if you’re not and _angel_ , what does that make you?” John finally managed to ask, his composure still thoroughly shattered, but at least his voice didn't shake.

Sherlock looked over, his ears flicking with amused interest, “You ask a lot of questions…” He commented lightly, “I’m what you humans call a ‘faun’.”

John gave Sherlock a confused glance, “Aren’t they…?”

“Goats.” Sherlock nodded casually and folded his arms. “You humans…are not very bright. Apparently you’re unable to tell the difference. And even when you get more advanced…you still lack a name to call me by. Other then _'The Deer Man'_ , that is. But no, nothing specific.”

John shook his head and shrugged as he began to calm down, “Well…maybe I’ll think about it while we work on getting the fuck out of here.”

Sherlock paused, his brow furrowing as his tail flicked. “Why?”

“Why not? It’s the least I can do anyway…since you’re helping and all.” John sighed as he looked around the cubical room. “We should really get going…I don’t want to hang around in the open too long.” He said as he moved towards a set of stairs…the only other door was on the platform above.

“Why are _you_ here, John?” Sherlock's voice was calm, but it froze John in his tracks. “I'm not stupid, in fact...I'm quite smart. I know that the Class-D's are _death row inmates_. So, how does an army doctor end up in the place of a death row inmate?”

John's lips thinned as his shoulders slumped slowly, “I...it's kind of complicated.” His eyes drifted to his feet, keenly aware that Sherlock was waiting for his response. “I was offered a job at a military base, or...that's what they told me it was. I just finished up a tour and wasn't settling well into a civilian life. So I took the job in heartbeat. They wanted me to be the base doctor, no problem. I'm a damn good doctor.”

Sherlock flicked his ears, “Obviously.”

“At first...it all seemed pretty standard. I wasn't cleared for certain places and I wasn't allowed to know certain things, you know...the same old song and dance. But...after a while, strange injuries started coming in. Acid burns...faces ripped up...self-mutilations.” John paused, “And dead bodies. I had to...sign a lot of death certificates. Strange deaths. Heart attacks in dozens of young, strong, men. It was odd.” He turned to Sherlock, “I should have known something was off and I should have just left without asking questions. But, my curiosity got the better of me...so I broke into the facility. I witnessed an experiment and got caught when I tried to run. They didn't want to risk a leak so they stuck me in here. Why waste a good test subject, right?”

Sherlock seemed to detect the tremble in his voice, “You've been here a while then?”

John shook his head, “No longer than anyone else...less than a month.”

“You've...been exposed to other SCP's though.” The deer man stated.

“Yes.” John murmured quietly, “I don't...really want to talk about that. It's been hell...and I just want to get out of here alive.” His voice cracked and he bit his lip to hold back a flood of emotions he couldn't deal with until he was out of harm's way. “So...can we just get the hell out of this place already?” Once more starting for the stairs.

Sherlock followed without another word, but hesitated at the bottom of the steps. They were grated…so was the platform. Not an easy surface to climb up with cloven hooves. John was nearly to the top when he stopped to glance down at the deer man…frowning when he saw Sherlock at the bottom of the steps. He was about to ask what the holdup was about…when it hit him.

John descended the stairs to stand next to the lanky fellow. Sherlock's ears were back and his face was contemplative, his fingers forming a steeple under his chin. He was trying to figure out how to get up the steps without asking for help...or maybe he didn't know he could ask for help. Given that they had just met recently it was understandable that Sherlock wasn't comfortable asking John for help. John wasn't completely certain that he trusted Sherlock, but given the circumstances he was willing to try. He crouched a bit, presenting his back to Sherlock, and jerked his head, “Get on.”

The deer man looked…confused and slightly offended. “I don’t need your help!” Huffing and moving to take a step, but he was unable to find a place to put his hoof where it wouldn’t get caught or the sensitive middle between his toes wouldn’t be jabbed by hard metal.

John waited, crouched over and smiling silently. Eventually, Sherlock relented and moved behind John. He hesitated a moment, “Are you sure you can hold me and go up the stairs? Because I’d rather not have us both falling down these horrid steps…”

“Oh for _fuck_ sake! Get on!” John half snapped, half chuckled.

Sherlock huffed and flicked his tail indigently before he accepted the piggyback. Wrapping his lithe arms around John’s shoulders as the blonde hefted the other man's legs higher on his waist. Once John was certain about the position, he started up the steps. He was glad, and surprised, that Sherlock didn’t weigh much considering how tall the man was. Even so…the going was slower then he would have liked and he did feel a bit off balance. He shifted forward a little too quickly for Sherlock's comfort, his tail whipping around John's thigh. It was more dexterous then John had imagined. It gripped his leg tightly…anchoring Sherlock to John. He wasn’t sure if Sherlock was aware of it or not, but he was obviously nervous that he might be dropped.

John smiled, not saying a word as he carried Sherlock up the stairs and over the harsh grating of the platform. Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder to press the button for the door and John walked through, setting the man down once the door slid shut behind them.

Sherlock pretended to brush down his fur as he nodded, “That was good…that thing…”

The blonde man smiled faintly and nodded, “It was, yeah.” Pausing before looking down the darkened corridor. “Where do we go from here, Sherlock?” Nervous as to what they’d meet in the gloom, but finding comfort that he wasn’t alone.

Sherlock flicked his tail slowly and readjusted the scarf, “Well…I’ve never really been this way before…but I believe if we keep going this way we’ll find an exit. We have to keep going up…because down leads to nothing good.”

John just nodded and they headed into the gloom, keeping quiet for the most part. There were a lot of doors…and John wasn’t sure where they led…they’d have to check each one methodically to be sure they didn’t miss something that would help them escape. The first door opened to another supply-like closet. There wasn’t much besides another gas-mask, John hesitated, but grabbed it just in case Sherlock needed it. Hanging it on his shoulder with the other one for the time being before they continued down the hall to try another door.

The door they selected required a key card, so John retrieved it. Looking to Sherlock as the deer man gave a very animal-like growl. His ears were pinned and his nose was wrinkled. “There’s something in there.”

“SCP?” John hesitated.

“Most definitely.”

“One-seven-three…?”

Sherlock sniffed at the door, “No.”

John chewed his lip and nodded, opening the door with the key card and peering inside. There was an SCP sign to one side, he narrowed his eyes on it to see what it said. _SCP-895_. He eased the door open a bit further…greeted with a monitor and control panel There was something on the monitor…it looked like…a coffin? John frowned and slowly stepped into the room to get a better look, regretting it right away when he discovered he could hardly turn away. He tried to warn Sherlock, but an image flashed on the screen that stole his focus. It looked like a decaying human body…blackened and rotting!

_**“John!”** _


	3. Emotions Run Thin

“John!” Sherlock seemed to know what was happening, not looking at the screen as he grabbed the blonde haired man and tried to pull him away from the monitor.

The man, himself, was trying his damnedest to turn his face away when another image flashed on the screen. It was…a dog…or it might have been at one point. It was dead. Torn to shreds. John’s breath hitched, his heartbeat revved up to an intense pace and didn't show signs of slowing. The blonde man panicked as he tried to fight the hold that this monitor had on him. But his muscles felt ridged. His whole body revolted against him and fought against the strong pull of Sherlock’s hands. The deer man tried twisting John’s head, but stopped when he was afraid he might snap the man’s neck with the sheer force he was using. Another gruesome image flashed before John’s eyes…wrenching a gasp from his lips even though he desperately tried to hold it back. Sherlock cursed, or growled, stepping in front of John in a last ditch attempt to block his view of the screen and hopefully jar him from whatever was holding him. Gripping the blonde man’s face as he leaned in close. His eyes were blazing with desperate concern, but his face was stoic and calm. _“Look at me, John!”_

John’s vision was blurry and unfocused, his pupils were huge, he was beginning to hyperventilate and he could feel his heart thudding painfully hard in his chest. But at least he could not longer see the monitor…the hold was broken as he stared up into the piercing blue eyes of the strange creature holding his face in tight, nimble, fingers.

“God…oh God…Sherlock, wh-what the hell?” He turned his eyes slightly as if to get his bearings, but Sherlock growled.

“ _Look only at me!”_

John nodded, or tried to. His face was gripped too firmly to move much, but Sherlock seemed to understand. He walked John backwards out of the room and closed the door with a flick of his tail. Only once he was satisfied that the door was fully shut did he let go of John’s face.

Almost instantly, John collapsed. He was shaking and gasping for breath, his pulse racing in his ears like a hurricane. John's body shuddered erratically and he felt tears welling in his eyes for the umpteenth time that day. He held his head between his knees and moaned.

“I…I can’t do this…I can’t…” He started to murmur over and over.

Literally everything could kill him, he didn’t know what had happened in that room, but his sanity had gone from mostly alright to hanging on by a thread in the span of a few seconds. The breach had happened maybe a few hours ago and already he’d escaped death a handful of times. His nerves were all but shot and he didn’t think he could make it another step…these weren’t even the worst SCP’s! He knew that there were more in Baskerville. More that were much worse…

He felt a velvety soft hand on his neck before he was suddenly engulfed in a gentle embrace. It was warm and furry…and it smelled a bit like…ash and some sort of spice. It was a soothing smell.

“Just…just leave me here…” John muttered into his knees, “Just…leave me…I can’t go on…”

“John…I’m not leaving you here. While it would be for the best given your tendency to have emotional outbursts…I fear that I might need you to continue if I should happen upon some more stairs or grated floors. I would be more likely to break a leg if I tried to walk on them, or God forbid, run on them.”

“Shut up…you’re just trying to make me feel better…”

“Is it working?”

John sighed, still shaking, and lifted his head. His face once more pressed closed to that of his odd companion’s, “A little.”

Sherlock offered what John assumed was a reassuring look before he unfolded himself from around the man and smoothed down his fur. Helping John back to his feet.

“I'm sorry...about that...” John murmured as he took a few calming deep breaths. “You'd think being in the army would help, but...this place is just so much worse...” The blonde man shook his head, “I've seen things, Sherlock, that have ensured I won't sleep in the dark ever again.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “It’s understandable, John. Most people only worry about things like this in their nightmares…they can wake up at any time and be assured that it’s not real. You, on the other hand, have no doubts that you are living a nightmare that you cannot wake up from.”

The man wasn’t sure if Sherlock was trying to comfort him or just stating the facts, but he nodded anyway and looked down the corridor and inhaled deeply. “Next door then?”

“No. I need to go back into this room first.” Sherlock said softly, “There was a side door…I want to be thorough, John. You should stay out here and—”

“Like hell I will!” John snapped, sounding more frightened then he meant to. “I mean…don’t leave me alone out here…I really can’t…” The man fidgeted. “I can’t be alone in this place…”

Sherlock’s lips thinned, he didn't look pleased. His ears flicked back and his tail lashed behind him for a moment. Then he unwound the scarf from his neck and held it out to John, “Put this on so you don’t see the screen again.”

John nodded, not about to argue. Taking the scarf and winding it around his head as a crude blindfold. Sherlock checked that he was unable to see before he wrapped his tail around John’s wrist and forearm. John, in turn, gripped the remarkably dexterous tail gently. He heard Sherlock open the door and slowly followed the guiding tug on his arm. Even though he was blindfolded…he clenched his eyes shut. Another door squeaked open and Sherlock groaned gently.

“Wh-what?”

“Stairs…John…there are more _bloody_ stairs!” The deer man sounded frustrated, “We must go down them. There’s another key card…I can see it from here. It’s a higher level. We’ll need it I’m sure.”

“Just…point me the right direction before I take this blindfold off…” John murmured.

Sherlock seemed to think a moment, then carefully guided John before him. He positioned the blonde man away from the door before helping tug down the blindfold, replacing it around his neck. John tentatively opened his eyes and glanced down the spiral staircase…it was dim in the space below. He wasn’t sure he could see what Sherlock was talking about, but surely the beast man had better eyes then he did. He crouched without a word and Sherlock hopped onto his back more willingly then the last time. Slowly, they moved down into the gloom and eventually John could make out a dead body. It was a security guard. On his belt appeared to be something that looked like a card. John hoped it was worth it. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, he set Sherlock down.

Sherlock went to examine the downed guard while John hesitantly checked the rest of the chamber. It was really just a hallway with an open door at the end…probably a containment cell. Obviously whatever had been housed within had killed the guard. Or so he assumed. John glanced back to Sherlock, the deer man was still bent over the dead guard. So, John slowly headed down the hall, his curiosity overriding his fear.

He peeked into the open door, pausing as he saw it was the coffin from the monitor. He expected to start seeing things again, but he could still turn his head away and after staring for several long moments…nothing happened.

“SCP eight-nine-five.” Sherlock murmured as he approached, startling John slightly.

“Why can I…look at it now?”

“It only affects those who stare at it through electronic devices. Otherwise…it’s not exactly harmful.” Sherlock shrugged, “You could even walk up to it if you like…” Starting into the room.

“No thank you.” The blonde man muttered as he turned away with a shudder, “Let’s go.”

Sherlock huffed and turned to follow, but paused as the fur on the back of his neck rose. His blue eyes dropped to the floor before the coffin and widened. A dark, bubbling, puddle began to form...widening until a hand, blackened and decaying, reached up through the stinking ooze. The smell offend Sherlock's delicate nose, but that was the least of his concerns. In a heartbeat, Sherlock bounded through the door with typical deer-like grace and speed. _“Run!”_

Any other time, John would have asked what was going on, but in a place like this he didn’t think twice. Bolting as soon as Sherlock shouted. He Reached the steps in a handful of strides and would have taken them two at a time…but he lurched to a halt to wait for Sherlock.

The creature in question staggered to a stop, almost colliding with Johns back. He grunted rather indignantly as he felt the stout man lift him and toss him over one shoulder. It was then John glimpsed what they were running from...a blackened decaying man...every footstep left a black puddle of rotting ooze. He let out a squeak and took the stairs two at a time even though he was weighed down by Sherlock.

“What the hell is that?!”

“Just keep running!” Sherlock snapped as John raced into the room at the top of the steps and out the door without incident.

John set him down just as their pursuer cleared the door to the stair, both took off at a dead run. Trying to outpace the creature that was chasing them. Though it appeared to be only walking, it moved at pace...and wasn't at all hindered by walls as John saw it pass through the locked chamber door.

“Christ, Sherlock! _**What is that?!**_ ” John nearly screamed as they turned a sharp corner.

“It’s bloody _Santa Claus_ , obviously! What do you _**think**_ it is, John?! _IT’S A SCP!_ ” Sherlock snapped as he bared his teeth. “It's not going to stop until it catches us and unlike SCP one-seven-three, it won't be foiled by locked doors!”

John panted as they kept running, looking back as the decaying man appeared through a wall as it pursued them. “What do we do?”

Sherlock didn't respond, just running, his strides were long and John had to take twice as many to keep up. He'd tire before the deer man would...would Sherlock leave him behind? Sherlock gave him a sidelong glance, then his hears twitched and turned ahead.

“John, do not slow down, keep exactly beside me!”

John wasn't sure what Sherlock had in mind, but he nodded and increased his pace to match his companion's. Ahead he could see another door. They'd be trapped...but Sherlock seemed sure. As they streaked towards the door, John noticed something odd on the walls at ten meter intervals. There were three sets at the last thirty meters before the door. As they approached the first set, it began to fizzle with electricity. John could feel it like uncomfortable static all over his body. His hair bristled and he nearly stopped running.

“Keep up!” Sherlock snapped, as if he knew John was having second thoughts.

The blonde man swallowed hard...no turning back now. They flashed by the first set, John felt the electricity bolting across the hall behind him. It buzzed loudly and seared the air. John didn't have time to think before they passed the second set. More electricity. The final set went off as they slammed into the wall by the door, unable to slow down fast enough in the small space. John's face slammed against the wall, it hurt like hell and he saw stars...a furry hand grabbed his shirt and dragged him through the doorway. He stumbled and fell into the next dim hall, lying on his back and panting.

Sherlock hit the ground next to him, out of breath and perking his ears towards the door. He could hear the Tesla gates going off beyond it...and when their pursuer didn't appear through the door he knew they'd given it the slip...for the moment.

John slowly looked over at his companion as the stars faded from his eyes, he snorted and choked on a giggle. All of Sherlock's fur was fluffed up. He looked like a giant fluff ball. The tip of his tail was ridiculously rounded and puffy. John couldn't contain his laughter as Sherlock looked at him.

“What?”

“You look ridiculous!”

Sherlock frowned, looking down at himself as if just noticing how the static electricity had affected his coat. His lips thinned, unamused as he tried to smooth down the impossibly fluffy fur. He growled as it continued to stay stuck up and fluffed, his ears pinning back and his tail whipping about madly.

John giggled and shook his head, “You need to discharge it...” Rolling over to look around, “Try the railing.” He pointed to a metallic rail that ran along one side of the dark hallway.

The deer man nearly lunged to his feet and bounded over to the rail, rubbing his furry hands over it. Once he seemed satisfied it was working, he began to earnestly rub his body on the rail. At least his fur was flattening out again. His antics only made John giggle more, but he didn't care. It took a good ten minutes of twisting and turning and rubbing to finally get his fur settled to a more reasonable fluffiness...ten minutes of John's giggle fits as the man watched him trying to torque his body to get all the static out of his fur.

“I could have just shocked you, you know.” Sherlock grumbled as he combed his fingers, angrily, through the tuft at the end of his tail. “Wouldn't have been so funny then!”

John chuckled softly, looking up at Sherlock from his place on the floor. “I'm sorry...it's...it's been too long since I've laughed like that.” He admitted as he tried to school his features into a more solemn look. It made him look tired...

Sherlock paused, then shook his head. “It's alright, John. No harm in changing the mood. It's been far too dire so far.” His words succeeded in bringing a tired grin to John's lips, but his former joy had been replaced with exhaustion. “We should really...”

“Get going...I know, I know...” John sighed as he pushed himself up slowly. “What was that SCP anyway?”

“SCP one-zero-six.” Sherlock said as he glanced towards the door, “It, as you saw, is basically decaying. Anything it comes into contact with appears to decay as well...and I believe it also has a dwelling in a pocket dimension.”

“A...pocket dimension?” John frowned.

“A space similar to where I came from....only smaller. Probably meant just for it and its prey. Not really a world...just some place to retreat to...to hide in.” Sherlock shrugged gently, “It appears to be summoned if you approach SCP eight-nine-five.”

“Let's not do that again then, shall we?” John murmured as he turned his back on the door and started walking down the hall. “You know a lot about the other...things...here.”

Sherlock followed slowly, “I listened to what the scientists said, read files over their shoulders.” He shrugged, “They didn't think I was smart enough to retain the information.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I may have led them to believe I was...less than intelligent.”

John frowned, “Why?”

“I didn't want them cutting open my head to see what made me tick.” Sherlock grinned malevolently.

“Then...why show me?” John asked, looking to Sherlock with mild confusion.

The deer man flicked his tail, wrapping it around John's waist. “Like you...what choice did I have? I was left locked up, unlike many of the others. I needed a way out...and you were desperate.” John tensed, feeling a strange shudder go through his spine. It wasn't fear...it was...anticipation. “You're also...different...”

_“D-different?”_


	4. Midnight Blood

“D-different?” John swallowed uncertainly, wondering if he should throw off Sherlock's tail and run...or run his fingers through the thick, luxurious, fur.

The deer man squeezed his tail a bit tighter around John's waist, slowing him to a stop. Sherlock drew in closer, his lips brushing John's neck as he spoke. “You _should_ have turned and run the moment I told you to fear me. _Instead_ you introduced yourself...” His tail eased from John's waist to circle the man's neck, tightening just enough to make John squirm. “You _should_ have left when I told you I see you as a meal. _Instead_...you present your back to me.” Slowly pushing John back towards a wall, his slender fingers wrapping around John's wrists before he could think to put up a fight. “You're enthralled by the danger of working with something that could kill you...it's the only thing keeping you from curling up in a corner and waiting to die.”

John was starting to squirm, the pressure around his neck wasn't enough to choke him, but it wasn't far off. He was pressed against a wall and the furry body of Sherlock Holmes. A body that, while so fluffy and warm, was hard as steel. His muscles were slender, but he held John easily. Keeping his wrists trapped down by his sides even when he started to struggle in earnest.

“Look at you...even now you're hardly trying to get away. Even when I have a perfect killing hold on you...” Sherlock grumbled into his ear, inhaling deeply. “You're going to embarrass yourself if you don't calm down, John.” The deer man's thigh pressing firmly against John's growing erection.

“I...I can't...” His voice was hoarse, frightened and yet...excited. “Sherlock...” The intense desire and want seemed to have just...crept up on John. He couldn't understand why it chose now to manifest...or he was trying to delude himself into thinking he didn't know. The truth was...Sherlock had figured it out...even though John was trying to escape Baskerville alive...the threat of meeting an untimely demise made him feel alive. It always had. But, John wasn't ready for this...wasn't capable of this right now. His resolve was broken, his emotions were frayed...his sanity was hanging on by a mere thread. And now...he was starting to get aroused by his beastly companion.

Sherlock didn't appear to hear John's pleas, or if he did...he wasn't stopping. His eyes practically glowed as he stooped to press a searing series of kisses from John's left temple to his jawline. It succeeded in erecting a gasp from the captive blonde, one that made the grip around his throat tighten with appreciation. John started to pant, struggling just slightly for breath. His lips parting in another exquisite gasp as Sherlock dragged his fangs along John's neck towards his shoulder. A rumble-like purr issued from deep in Sherlock's throat when John's body convulsed against his own. John couldn't decide if he wanted to get away or not, between struggling to breathe and his sudden, intense, arousal...he'd lost complete control of his will. Sherlock released one of John's wrists, moving his strong hand towards John's tensed stomach. John's free hand almost instantly renewed his struggles for freedom, prying meekly at the tail around his neck.

A throaty chuckle from Sherlock sent another shudder through his body as the beast man returned his grip to John's wrist, much firmer than before. He all but slammed John's hand over his head, dragging his other wrist up to join them so he could hold them with just one strong, lithe, hand. Tightening his choking grip around John's neck until the man couldn't breathe. Fear shot through John's eyes as he struggled against Sherlock, panicking but not losing his sense of...desire.

“Relax...everything is going to be fine...” Sherlock assured in a husky tone, dipping his head low to capture John's gaping lips in a burning kiss. It literally felt as thought John had placed his lips around a hot coal! Sherlock's firm hand delved below John's shirt, pressing unbelievably soft, thick, fur to his skin as the fabric was lifted. John's vision blurred and his struggles lessened. He was on the verge of passing out when the hold on his neck eased and he was able to suck in a huge lungful of air. The rush of oxygen to his deprived lungs was a heady shock, leaving him reeling. The warm body moved away, but one firm hand remained on his chest to keep him pressed to the wall.

John's breath rasped in his ears as he struggled through the haze over his mind. His body burned like fire and his arousal was painfully clear. He opened his eyes, meeting the searing gaze of Sherlock as the deer man stood there watching him. In an instant, John shoved the hand from his chest and staggered away from Sherlock.

“W-what the hell was that!?” John shouted, staggering back a step as Sherlock started towards him. “ _ **Don't!**_ Don't you even touch me!”

“John...” Sherlock sighed, his ears flattening slowly. He looked calm and smug. “How do you feel, John?”

“H-how do I feel? How do I _feel_?!” The blonde man was shaking, frustrated, confused....on the verge of running and never looking back. But...he felt...energized...like he could actually run for days if he had to. His brow furrowed as he placed tentative fingers to his stinging lips. “What did you...?”

“You were going to collapse sooner or later, John...you've been running and panicking since the breach. You've been here, under extreme stress, for almost a month. You were on the road to disaster. So, I gave you a boost. It won't last forever, but it will help keep you on your feet for a little while longer.” Sherlock shrugged calmly, his tail lashed on the floor. “And...I was indulging my temptation...it's not easy to be surrounded by your favourite food and not be allowed to eat any.” A predatory smirk touched the man's lips before he turned away briskly and resumed walking down the hall.

John stared after him for several minutes, still trying to sort through the mass of emotions the encounter had dragged to the surface. At least his erection was dying down at the mention of Sherlock's food source. He was once again uncertain of his choice to help the deer man...but he did feel a lot more capable of going on now. He swallowed and steeled his resolve, fixing his shirt and slowly jogging to catch up with Sherlock.

The deer man was waiting in the room at the end of the hall for him. He recognized it right away. “Decontamination chamber.” John murmured as he slowly stepped inside.

Sherlock raised a brow, as if surprised to see John there, but he nodded and looked at the small monitor. “Our friend is waiting for us it seems.” Pointing to the screen.

John looked and had to hold back a gasp, in the corner of the small red washed room was SCP-173. He swallowed his fearful response as he turned back to Sherlock and shrugged the gas masks from his shoulder.

“You'll want one of these.” Slipping one on top of his own head before holding the other out the Sherlock.

The deer man flicked his ears and wrinkled his nose, “That won't fit over my antlers.”

He had a point...John pursed his lips and slowly started to unfasten the straps. “Could you...lean over...?” John all but whispered.

Sherlock's ears perked, but he slowly leaned over to allow John access to his head. John carefully fit the mask over Sherlock's face before starting to refasten the straps around his head and antlers. Trying not to enjoy the feel of the soft curls under his fingers...or give into his sudden urge to stroke Sherlock's ears. It was slower than just slipping the mask on and off...but Sherlock's impressive headgear wasn't designed to be compatible with human devices like the gas mask. John tightened the straps carefully, trying to finish quickly as he was still a bit ruffled from the sexually charged encounter.

“There.” John muttered as he stepped back, allowing Sherlock to straighten and reposition the mask more comfortably on his face.

The deer man nodded curtly in thanks and moved to examine the screen once more. John slipped his mask over his face and joined Sherlock, checking on SCP-173's location. It was now in the opposite corner...hovering just outside the decontaminating fog at the door they were going to enter from. John swallowed his fear and protests as Sherlock moved to press the button for the doors. As soon as they slid open, John and Sherlock hurried in. Greeted with the horribly gruesome face of SCP-173. It looked hundreds of times worse with the fog washing over it's form. It's face was...even more bloody...John suppressed a shudder as they squeezed by. Careful to keep their eyes on SCP-173. They backed out of the room and into the accompanying hallway, waiting for the affirmative beeping of the door closing before either thought to blink or turn away. John slipped his mask up over his face and turned to help Sherlock remove his. Slipping both masks back over his shoulder before they started along the hall in silence again. John slightly leading...as if trying to put some distance between himself and Sherlock.

“You're upset.” Sherlock finally said.

John rubbed a hand through his unkempt hair, “No...yes...I just...” He struggled to find words, any words that would explain what he was feeling.

“You wanted more.” Sherlock found the words for him...and they made John stop dead in his tracks. He approached John's back slowly, reaching out and placing his hand on the back of John's neck. “I would covet nothing more than being able to take you...right now...” John was tense, but as Sherlock stepped up and wrapped his arms around him...he started to relax. “It is not uncommon in my dimension...to desire to keep that which we would normally call prey. Creatures there...are fiercely possessive...and carnal...” His lips brushed over John's ear, drawing a shudder from the man. “Delectable as you might be...you're a different kind of prey, John Watson.”

The blonde man was trembling, his need was returning...but he kept it tamped down. Now was hardly a good time to get fucked by the beast behind him. Though the thought of his hands wrapped around Sherlock's antlers as the deer man gave him a good working over had appeal.

As if Sherlock was capable of reading his mind, he chuckled softly. “But now is not a good time for that...now...we need to focus on getting out of here.” Nuzzling John's neck before releasing the man gently, “I'll ravish you later.” His tail flicking suggestively before he strolled past John and into the gloom.

John swallowed thickly and shook his head, Sherlock was right...they needed to get out of Baskerville. He strode after Sherlock, falling into step with the beast man as they resumed their search for the exit. They hadn't gone more then a few meters when a loud roar literally rocked the facility! It was deafening in the confines of the hallway, reverberating off the walls. John clapped his hands over his ears to try and block out the sound. It rattled through his body and shook dust from the ceiling. Beside him, Sherlock crumpled to the floor! The noise was intense for John...but it had utterly overloaded Sherlock. The pain was excruciating as he tried to cover his ears, adding an inhuman scream of his own to the unbearable noise. He felt something pop in the depths of one ear, a searing pain radiating outwards from the point. Sherlock bared his teeth in pain, hardly recognizing it when John threw himself down and pulled Sherlock's head into his body. Shielding him from another round of the roaring by covering one ear with his arms and the other in his chest. Sherlock writhed, his tail madly convulsing and whipping as he curled in on himself...curled around John.

The roaring was punctuated by gunshots and explosions...the whole building rumbled and shuddered with every passing second. And though it seemed like a lifetime, only a minute passed before the noises finally died down and the silence returned. Washing over the huddled pair in oppressive waves. John's head was buzzing. His ears were ringing, but he hardly took time to acknowledge his own pains. His focus was on the horrifyingly still body that was curled into his.

Sherlock had gone completely still...his tail didn't even move, just laying out behind him on the floor where it had fallen. John couldn't see if the man was breathing from the angle he was at, he couldn't feel any movement at all. Slowly, he unwrapped an arm from around Sherlock's head...the skin came away sticky with some sort of ebony fluid. John's fingers sought a pulse, pressing through he thick fur to a place on Sherlock's neck he hoped to find a pulse.

It was hard to feel through the fur, but the heartbeat was strong...and as if on cue...Sherlock exhaled slowly against John's other arm. The tip of his tail twitched and he slowly unfurled his long fingers from around his ears. The palm of his left hand was blackened by the same fluid on John's arm. His eyes seemed to stare, just taking in the sight of his once pristine white palm covered with, what John assumed was, blood.

John hesitantly leaned over to look at the ear...the midnight blood was slowly dripping from the tip. He wasn't sure about the anatomy of Sherlock...but he could guess that the eardrum hard been ruptured. It had to be excruciating...

“Sherlock...” John began gently, but stopped when Sherlock flinched.

“Sp-speak softly...J-John...” Sherlock all but whispered as he slowly started to unwind himself from John's body. His head tilted to the left just slightly.

John frowned as he watched Sherlock slowly start to sit up, taking the deer man's face in his hands and turning it to gently examine the damaged ear. Sherlock didn't protest, letting John lift the long ear and peer inside. He couldn't see much without a light...but there was a glistening trail of blood that led into the depths of the ear. John chewed his lip before gripping the sleeve of the sickening orange jumpsuit and ripping off a strip of cloth. The tearing noise made Sherlock cringe, but John had to do something. He rolled the fabric and gently pushed it as far into the ear as he could. It would deaden the sounds somewhat and perhaps lessen Sherlock's pain.

Sherlock flicked his ear tenderly and looked at John with as much thanks as he could offer. “How are...your ears?” His voice a bit louder this time. He didn’t flinch, which meant the makeshift plug was working. “You...didn't cover them.” Keenly aware that John had uncovered his own ears to help Sherlock cover his.

John's ears were still ringing, “Fine.” He lied, but he wasn't in near as much pain as Sherlock. Of course the deer man would hear thing better, so a loud noise like that was bound to be agony. “Any idea what that was?” Trying to direct Sherlock's critical gaze elsewhere.

“ SCP...two-eight-six...more than likely.” Sherlock seemed to be a bit dazed, but the speaking was bringing him back around. “It's...near indestructible...huge...hates everything...if it escapes Baskerville...they'll implement the Kill Protocol.” Slowly starting to stand, with John's help of course.

“The Kill...Protocol...oh God...” John knew what that meant, at least while he was working on the outside. “They'll blow the whole place...” If they did decide to go ahead with their endgame...everything in a several hundred kilometre radius would feel the effects of it. John and Sherlock would never clear the facility or blast radius in time either. _“We have to shut it down.”_


	5. Stupid Sentiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short delay everyone! Thank you so much for your comments, for the record I love Sherlock's tail too! *Winks* ANYWAY, here's the latest chapter, please do enjoy it! It's not exactly like the game...I know some details I'm taking and making entirely different, but that's kind of the point of fan fiction...to a degree. So, just a heads up that it doesn't conform to the exact same plotline as the game...it's more like guidelines!

“ _We have to shut it down?”_ Sherlock mimicked. “John...we can't.” He growled and flicked his tail behind him.

“Why not?!” John's voice cracking with panic...with despair.

“Because the warhead room is on the _lowest_ floor!”

“So?” What was he missing? Why was the basement so bad?

Sherlock's tail whipped and he growled slowly. “The absolute worst kinds of things are, or were, contained down there. Given that there was a breach...I'll bet many of them are just wandering loose down there. We already know one's stalking us up here.”

“One-zero-six...?” John asked, receiving an affirmative nod from the deer man.

“Minus the deadly monsters...there is only one way up or down...an elevator. A boxed in convenient little place to wait for someone to venture out of, don't you think? And...the warhead room is not only the furthest room from the elevator...it requires a level _**five**_ key card, of which there is _only one_ , to open the door.” Sherlock shook his head slowly, “And it was on the leading scientist’s person, Dr. L. I'm sure you know him, every one of _us_ did...I can't imagine he didn't introduce himself to his test subjects. However. Dr. L was snatched, as soon as the breach began, by SCP one-zero-six.”

“How do you know that?” John's voice barely above a whisper as a hopeless dread started to consume his body.

Sherlock leered smoothly, his fangs flashing in the darkness. “He was _**visiting**_ me when the breach occurred. I've already told you one-zero-six isn't hampered by conventional walls. As soon as its containment cell was shut down...it came for the _good_ _doctor_ and dragged him into the pocket dimension. I have no doubts that the man is dead, John...very dead.” The pleasure in Sherlock's voice was obvious, his tail curling as his eyes glinted wickedly. “However...that means the only level five key card is also in the pocket dimension. And without the key card...there is no way to get into that room and shut down the Kill Protocol.”

John swallowed hard, the news was hard to take. It meant...that escape was hopelessly beyond their reach...a shudder of despair raced down his spine. He clenched his eyes shut, “Oh God...” He whispered, his heart sinking as he tried to think around the low buzz of utter hopelessness setting up in his brain.

He was on the verge of tears and it made Sherlock's heart twinge. He didn't know why...but a crazy plan started to form in his head. A plan he hoped might make his lovely human smile instead of bawl. Sherlock's long tail flicked against John's leg... his nimble, furry, fingers caressed John's chin to bring his eyes back to Sherlock's. “But...that does not mean all hope is lost.”

John stared up into Sherlock's face with confusion, “Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean...all we have to do is go and get the card.”

“B-but it'll kill us! Won't it?” John felt a tiny spark of hope return to his chest, as well as a whole new set of crushing fears. “I mean you said it only takes its prey to its dimension to hunt and kill them and...and how would we even get out?”

Sherlock flicked his ears, wincing as he reached up to rub tentatively at his left one. “There's always a way out...how else do you suppose it gets around? It doesn't actually pass through walls, John, it creates doors in and out of its dimension which allows it to seemingly pass through solid matter. All we have to do is find a door out once we get in.”

John wasn't so sure...it sounded more dangerous to go into the realm that some creature knew intimately than just trying to escape a potential explosion. However, realistically...the idea was more sound. Sherlock was right...or at least John believed the deer man couldn't be wrong, he had already proved his intelligence several times over.

“How...do we...get in the pocket dimension?”

Sherlock's tail curled as a darkness crept into his eyes, “We let it take us there.”

John glanced back the way they'd come, shuddering as he considered the creepy, decaying, body coming towards him...and him just letting it get closer. It would be near impossible for him to stay still and accept being dragged into the depths of a new hell, but Sherlock would be there...and John felt like he might be able to do anything so long as the deer man was at his side.

“I don't suppose it will be lingering where we left it...?” John finally asked with a sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning back to Sherlock.

“Not likely.” Sherlock shrugged subtly, “We'll have to lure it out I imagine.”

“How?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in thought, his tail turning slow circles behind him. “We could try SCP eight-nine-five again...” John groaned, “But that is quite a ways back... _hm_...” He frowned as he tried to think of a way to lure the SCP in question to them.

John shifted after a few moments, uneasy about standing in the hall that was only so far away from SCP-173. He glanced to Sherlock, loathing to disrupt him when he was clearly trying to find the best way to enact their new plan...

“Sherlock...can we move out of here, maybe?” Uncertain the deer man heard him as he gave no indication that he had, so John stepped a bit closer and reached out to tentatively place a hand on the soft fur of Sherlock's shoulder. “Sherlock...?” The fur was luxuriously soft...and it sent a pleasant, warm, tingle up John's arm that almost made him gasp.

The contact seemed to stir his thoughtful companion, who glanced down to him slowly. His tail slowly flicking against John's feet before he nodded and smiled subtly, “Yes...let's not linger.” His voice low and his eyes flashing with possessive pleasure.

John swallowed nervously, his desire returning slowly with ever lash of the long tail against this feet. Slowly he pulled away, trying to forget the intoxicating feeling of the dextrous tail around his neck. He cleared his throat and nodded, motioning for Sherlock to lead the way and looking at the floor.

Sherlock smirked, but nodded, and started to lead them down the dark hall once more. They travelled in relative silence. Not because of the awkward tension between them, because Sherlock was thinking and John was waiting for the answers. The next door they entered, however, brought an end to the thoughtful silence.

A grated catwalk greeted them, as well as the low level hissing of machinery. The room beyond was pitch black, as far as John could tell. However, a glance at Sherlock confirmed a distinct change in the size of the deer man's pupils, suggesting he could see in the darkness beyond. His right ear perked up while his left remained down, it wasn't like it was useful at that moment and the less he moved it, the less it hurt.

“Should we...?” John asked softly, unsure if it was wise to enter a room he could barely see in.

By way of answer, Sherlock motioned the blonde man before him, “It's fine, there's nothing in there but machines.”

John sighed and nodded, bending over for the deer man to, once more, hop onto his back. Hefting the creature up on his waist before stepping onto the metal catwalk and through the door, which swished shut behind him. Almost instantly, John was plunged into darkness. Going stiff with uncertainty, until he felt the reassuring flicking of Sherlock's long tail around his legs.

“Just walk straight, John.” The deep voice murmured into his ear.

John fought the rush of fear that came with being engulfed by the darkness, glad Sherlock was there to settle him some...and guide him. Taking tentative steps at first...slowly growing more confident when he didn't run into anything. The room was a lot bigger than John expected, and the catwalk curved around in places. He bumped the railing twice as Sherlock tried to direct him in the gloom. The low level humming was starting to get on his nerves, it was like a constant itch he couldn't scratch...shaking his head as if to rid himself of it. Sherlock carded his long fingers through his hair, seeking to sooth him as best as he could. Surely even Sherlock had to be irritated by the buzzing noise, maybe even more so! But then again...given that they'd just been buffeted by a nearly deafening roar, John supposed Sherlock didn't mind the subtle hissing.

 _“_ _Hmm...”_ Sherlock's thoughtful noise made John pause.

“What?”

“There appears to be...three sets of doors.” He shifted slightly as John readjusted his grip.

“So...which one do we take?”

Sherlock shrugged against his back, “Your guess is as good as mine, John...I haven't been this way. I haven't been a lot of ways...I just listened enough to hear key points. However, machine rooms weren't exactly something I ever heard about.”

John sighed, “Well...then...what's closest? Because I'm getting tired of carrying you.”

Sherlock chuckled softly in his ear, “No you're not...” He murmured, but didn't elaborate. “Left.”

The blonde man blushed in the darkness and nodded, turning until he was heading the right way and stopping when Sherlock said so. The deer man leaned over his shoulder and a door swished open, the dim hallway a pleasant reprieve from the dark machine room they left behind. John set Sherlock down and shrugged his shoulders, as if they ached from carrying him...of course they didn't. The pair starting down the hall to see if they could find something that might give them a clue about where they were.

“You know how the lower level is mapped out?” John asked softly.

“More or less...the elevator brings you down in the farthest north-east corner...from there you have to go straight through two doors, once to the left...and twice right before you reach a straight path to the warhead room. Fairly simple...” Sherlock said calmly, “It's, however, not the layout you need to worry about...there are a variety of dangerous SCP's down there...some you can't look at...some you can't touch...”

John was listening diligently when a rattling noise overhead made him glance up towards the various pipes that ran along the ceiling. Sherlock didn't seem to notice at first, but his right ear snapped to attention as the rattling stopped abruptly. John heard the ominous creaking over Sherlock's antlers and, without a second thought, he shoved Sherlock back! The pipe burst just as Sherlock's back collided with the wall behind him, spewing a pressurized stream of black decontamination gas into the place he'd once been. The place which John Watson now occupied!

The scream that John released grated in Sherlock's good ear and made his fur stand on end. He lunged off the wall, feeling a stinging pain in his eyes in response to the mist that was slowly starting to fill the hall. It was choking the air from his lungs, making them burn with every rasping breath.

“John! _John!_ ” Sherlock shouted, closing his eyes to avoid more harm being done, as he struggled to find the now coughing blonde man.

John couldn't see, his eyes burned like someone had poured acid on them. His lungs were searing...he staggered and tumbled to the floor with a short cry! He heard Sherlock calling his name, but he couldn't manage to do anything more then moan around wretchedly painful coughs. The clip of hooves on the floor grew nearer, so he reached out...feeling soft feathered fur brush over his outstretched fingers before he wrapped his hand around one of Sherlock's legs.

The deer man wheezed out a yelp, startled by the hand, but also immensely relieved to have found his companion. Reaching down blindly and hauling John to his feet, wrapping his tail around the shuddering man's waist and pulling his arm over a furry shoulder. John was almost like dead weight, staggering against Sherlock as they stumbled, hurriedly, down the hall to escape the choking and burning gas. Colliding with the walls several times before finally bouncing into a side door. Sherlock almost viciously jabbed the button for the door, throwing John inside and closing the door swiftly. The deer man opened his eyes only after the door swished shut, they stung only slightly from the residual traces of gas that dissipated around  him...the door seemed to be sealed enough to keep the rest of the gas from seeping in. His lungs were on fire and he wheezed painfully, John was moaning and making horrible choking noises as he curled up on the floor.

“S-stupid...Jo-John.” Sherlock coughed as he struggled to crouch instead of collapse, reaching for John's face tentatively.

The blonde man just wheezed, unable to voice a response if he wanted to. His lungs felt shredded and his eyes wouldn't open even a little. Tears were coursing down his cheeks like someone had left a tap on full blast and forgotten to turn it off. Another coughing fit sent his body into painful convulsions. A firm hand took his twitching one. It anchored him...gripping tight to the warm hand while he struggled through the pain. He knew it would wear off...though it would take much longer given that he'd taken a full shot to the face. Sherlock slowly settled down next to him, stroking his fingers in John's hair and holding his hand firmly.

“Baskerville must be...damaged if the pipes are backing up...” Sherlock said softly, his voice was husky from the gas, but he sounded mostly alright. “Are you...are you alright?” Obviously John wasn't but the man nodded subtly, “That was stupid...what you did.”

“Y-yes.” John agreed through another round of coughs, they were less severe though.

“Thanks.”

John struggled to open one eyes, offering a quivering smile to his companion...or the blob he assumed was his companion, closing his eye after a moment. “Wa-water...mig-might...”

“Help.” Sherlock nodded, “I don't know where there would be any...but I can take a look. There were some other doors.” John nodded, he didn't want the deer man to go, but water would really move along the process.

Sherlock nodded and hesitantly lifted John to prop him up against the desk in the middle of the room. Taking one of the masks and fumbling with the straps for several frustrating minutes before he managed to get the set up around his antlers. He then took the key cards from John's pockets, hesitating a moment. Sherlock lifted the mask to press a gentle kiss over John's clenched brow. John smiled and blushed, but he was still nervous about being left alone.

“I'll be right back...” Sherlock assured, heading to the door and forcing himself to not look back as he feared he might lose his nerve otherwise.

John listened to the hooves click away, the swish of the door opening and closing...and then silence. Silence only broken by the infrequent coughing fits that were beginning to slowly dwindle. He could just barely open his eyes, but he couldn't see anything beyond blurry images through the tears. John closed his eyes again, just hoping Sherlock would be alright...and that he would hurry...because John didn't like being alone in this hellhole. He'd actually grown very accustomed to Sherlock's presence...and without it he felt like something was detrimentally wrong.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he pulled his knees to his chest, trying to open his eyes once more. He could open them a little further and the tears were starting to stream a little less. He wiped at his face with one hand, shuddering as he repressed a smaller cough. The minutes ticked by...gradually John was able to keep his eyes open longer and longer. Things were starting to come back into focus, the coughing had completely subsided. However, there was no sign of Sherlock. The blonde man struggled to stay put, he was worried that Sherlock might have come to some harm. He still couldn't see much beyond indistinct blobs and he was still blinking too rapidly. He wouldn't be any use to Sherlock until he could see normally again.

The unexpected whooshing of the door made him jump, squinting at the black and white blob that trotted in. “I couldn't find any water, but I think I found the exit!”

“R-really?” John croaked, maybe they could get away from Baskerville in time after all!

John began to stand and Sherlock started over to help...but the deer man never made it...

John heard a burbling plopping under his feet, the stench of rotting flesh and decaying garbage welled up around him. He could feel rotten, fleshy, hands wrap around his ankle like a vice! Sherlock was lunging for him, but he felt himself being savagely dragged down with incredible force! The last thing John remembered, before the black sludge-like substance engulfed him and his consciousness, was Sherlock's outstretched hand missing his by mere millimetres while he shouted in utter disbelief and fear, _“Sherlock!”_


	6. Alone In Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEADS UP GUYS! SOME GOREY STUFF AHEAD!

_**Sherlock!** _

John jerked awake gagging on the foul taste of decay! He turned to one side and wretched up a black gob of rotten... _something_. His vision was bleary...but only from the sudden sting of vomiting up something so viscous and foul. He wiped at his mouth with a shaking hand as he tried to get his bearings. His body ached and it felt like he'd been dropped on his head. His breath rasped in his ears as he struggled to calm his queasy stomach.

“Sh-Sher...” John's voice was weak and painful. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Sherlock?” He looked around slowly, desperately hoping he'd see his furry companion in the gloom. “Please... _please_...” Nearly choking on the desperation in his voice.

However, no amount of desperate pleas would make the fact of his situation change...he was utterly _alone_. Alone in a new kind of hell that he was certain might now become his grave. It was dark, but not any darker than the halls of Baskerville had been. The ground under him was soft...unpleasantly soft...it squished and oozed foul smells and fluids. The texture was like moss...or fungi...John couldn't decide which was worse. It was mostly black, but it was mottled with sickening greens and pasty greys. The stench was _overpowering_...it was a combination of rotten food and dead animals. No matter which way he turned...it remained the same. The very air was permeated with it. Slowly, he cast his terrified blue eyes around his gloomy new dungeon...it looked like a dungeon, or at least one room of a dungeon. It was round and the walls were full of entrances, which led into dark halls. They were identical in every way...

John turned his head from side to side, tears pooling in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself to his knees. The movement, although slow, made him queasy and he swallowed hard as bile rose in his throat. His gaze fell abruptly to the sickening black gob he'd wretched up. He could still taste it in his mouth, sweeping his tongue over his teeth in response. Unexpectedly, his tongue met some sort of slimy grit...causing him to vomit once more. The contents were a little less black and mostly fluid. John wasn't sure he had anything to really throw up, given that he couldn't remember when he'd last eaten or drank.

A tear squeezed past his crumbling resolve, while he hunched over and gasped painfully, and landed on the back of his hand with a silent plop. He felt a sob escape his lips, shaking his head and growling, “No... _ **no!**_ ” Driving his fist into the ground hard, using the spike of pain shooting up his arm to batter the emotions down. He wouldn't cry...not here...he couldn't break now!

John fought through his uncomfortable queasiness, forcefully pushing himself to his feet. His vision swirled for a moment, but he didn't care... _he was getting out_. Sherlock had said there was a way...all he had to do was find it. Once his gaze began to focus, he started towards the dark entrance right in front of him. He desperately wanted to collapse and cry with every step. His body ached terribly, like he'd been tossed down a flight of endless stairs, and his head throbbed sickeningly. The urge to vomit was ever present, wrapping an arm around his torso with a groan, but he staggered into the first dark hall regardless. As he forced himself along, groping the disgustingly soft walls for support, he fell back on an old mantra from his days in army training. One his drill sergeant had been fond of screaming at him in particular, especially when he started lagging or saying he couldn't go on. _**“Pain can be ignored, Watson!”**_ The man had always pushed him to keep going with that hated phrase. A phrase, at the time, John had never wanted to hear again...now he latched onto it desperately.

 _Pain...can...be...ignored._ Taking a step with every word as he forced himself along. _Pain...can...be...ignored._

Several minutes of staggering and mental chanting later...John stepped back into the round room of halls. He knew it was the same room because his black pile of vomit was still there. Tears pricked his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and tried another hall. _Pain. Can. Be. Ignored._ The hall seemed to go on forever. _Pain. Can. Be. Ignored._ John's dragging foot suddenly caught on a mass he hadn’t seen in the gloom, tripping and falling over whatever it was. He gave a  short horrified cry as he landed in a shallow puddle of something wet. It wasn't water...or if it was...it wasn't fresh or clean. It was thick and sludgy...and just as foul smelling as everything else in the hellhole place. John got a mouthful of it, gagging and nearly vomiting as he scrambled back out of the filth. It soaked the front of his shirt, his chest, his face, and dripped (more like oozed) slowly from his hair. He pushed himself back from the unknown substance and his hand collided with the mass that had tripped him...making him go absolutely still.

John didn't need to look to confirm that it was a body...a _human_ body. He was a doctor...he knew what a dead body felt like...even though this one was rotten and decaying. His fingers were inadvertently digging in to the soft flesh between the ribs, he could feel the bone against his skin. A shudder went through him and he gagged, swallowing the urge to scream...or vomit. He retracted his hand, flinching at the sickening sucking noise his fingers made, and slowly turned to examine the body. The rotting was newer than the rest of the surrounding decay. Though it was almost impossible to tell who it might have been. The flesh was starting to peel away from the bones...most of it was greyish-black and bloated grotesquely. The clothing was all but gone, however a somewhat intact name-tag still remained on the chest.

John reached over and wiped carefully at the grime, _Dr. L._

A bolt went through John... _the key card_...Dr. L had the key card! A flicker of hope stung in his chest and he reluctantly started to search the rotten corpse...thoroughly. The flesh broke in places as he tried to carefully turn the body and various fluids stained his hands. His disgust grew when his hands slipped entirely into the fleshy decaying mess, up to his wrists and higher, more than once. It seemed like he searched the body for hours...hours with no reward. John trembled, wanting to give up so badly. But...what if he actually managed to escape? John didn't know where he would re-emerge in Baskerville. He could very well end up in the basement...which would put him at a disadvantage in terms of escape. He would _need_ the key card...or else he would never make it out alive. Not that his chances were looking good for survival at that moment. John shuddered and lifted a massive chunk of dissolving flesh...most of which started to sift through his fingers. His mind went into overdrive, disgust and horror thrumming madly through his head and threatening to overthrow what little sanity he had left! For a moment he feared he might pass out, but something hard and plastic bit into his searching fingers. He yanked it free with a gasp of excitement and relief, meaty pieces dangling from his hands as he did. It was a card of some sort! He wiped the filth covered card with his shirt, shakily, and squinted at it in the gloom.

 _Level Five..._ it was the level five key card!

“ _Yes!”_ John couldn't contain the victorious shout as he gripped the key card like a life line, allowing a sob of joy to escape his chest.

He'd take the small victories at that point. However, his sense of joy was fleeting and his victory was short lived when SCP-106 suddenly loomed from the darkness! It reached a rotten hand towards John as it approached...and John panicked. In a heartbeat, he was on his feet and running through the thick ooze, his body screaming in protest as the pace aggravated every ache tenfold.

_Pain can be ignored!_

John didn't look back, praying he could outrun his pursuer...that he could escape the pocket dimension and find Sherlock again. The ooze sucked at his legs with each stride, growing deeper as John raced further down the hall. It threatened to overtake his knees when John suddenly sprinted into the same circular room! A cry of panic and fear jumped from his lips, he had no time to think on which way to go with SCP-106 stalking him. So he fled to the left into another dark hall as fast as his aching legs would carry him. Unexpectedly, John slammed into a sharp corner! Pain erupted along his face and he hit his knees for a few terrifying seconds...

_Pain...can be...ignored..._

John's mantra reminded and he struggled back to his feet, lurching back into a stiff run down the hall. Was SCP-106 still chasing him? Would it just appear before him? Could this be his way out? All at once, John emerged onto an almost too small platform that dropped off into swirling grey darkness below. John nearly ran over the side due to the abrupt shortness of the platform! Throwing himself backwards mid-stride and sliding to a terrifying halt...legs dangling over the edge and the fingers of one hand digging into the disgustingly soft ground while the other still clutched the key card desperately. For a moment...John laid there. Panting with exhaustion and terror. Then, slowly, he pulled himself away from the edge and looked back, expecting to see SCP-106 coming for him. Instead...he saw nothing but the ashen swirling darkness that surrounded the high pillar platform. No entrance he'd just escaped from...no SCP-106 chasing him. Just...nothingness.

He swallowed hard and stood painfully, carefully stepping towards the edge of his platform to see if there was a way down. Steep stairs spiralling around the pillar into the depths below greeted his questing gaze. John nodded, somewhat fearfully, to himself before carefully starting down the steps; hugging the wall of the pillar he'd almost fallen off of moments ago.

The stairs went on for ages and several times John had to rest, leaning back against the pillar wearily as he stared into the void in the distance...wondering if he'd ever get out. He was on the verge of delirium when the stairs finally flattened out into a crude, narrow, bridge. It horizontally spanned over the nothingness below, connecting his pillar to another several meres away and connected to a nauseatingly long series of similar bridge forms.

John hesitated and stared a long time, “What choice do I have?” He murmured hoarsely, stepping out on the bridge to shuffle his way across. It was sturdier then John anticipated, but that didn't make him feel any better.

The bridges just kept going, seemingly forever, into the gloom. John kept walking, terrified of falling and ever concerned that SCP-106 might reappear at any time. It seemed like forever before he reached the final platform...there was nothing else on it or around it as he approached. At that point he didn't care too much, just wanting to be off the somewhat terrifying bridges. John stepped down onto the platform...and plummeted into blackness!

The blonde man didn't have a chance to even think about screaming before he slammed into something hard! Pain rocketed through his body and he nearly lost consciousness...nearly. He panted painfully and struggled to open his eyes, expecting to see the circular room again. Much to his shock, and pleasure, he saw the darkness of Baskerville's halls.

 _He had made it_...he'd made it out! But his relief was quickly overridden by panic...

 _Where in Baskerville was he?_ He glanced around the hall as he painfully gained his feet, his eyes coming to rest on a door directly behind him. His heart hammered and his throat constricted. The neat black plaque on the front of the door gleamed with perfectly machine etched letters: **Warhead Room**. John was on the lowest level and staring at the room he'd desperately been hoping he'd be able to find. His fingers curled around the sticky key card, slowly lifting it towards the key scanner. He almost expected it to beep at him and refuse to open...but the door slipped open without a single sound of protest.

Numbly...John stepped inside. It was a fairly bare room. A simple set of control panels nestled under glass windows across from the door. The windows looked into a darkened silo...giving John just a tiny glimpse of the massive weapon housed within. It was terrifying. Nervously, John approached the control panels...suddenly dreading that it might be extremely complicated to shut down the system and that maybe it was a foolish plan after all. But, much to his stupefaction, there was a switch neatly labelled, _'Remote Activation: ON/OFF'._ It was currently set to _ON_..so, John merely flipped the switch to _OFF_. Nothing seemed to happen. There were no sirens or beeps or flashing lights to indicate anything had gone wrong.

“ _Fuck_...wish it was that easy to get out of here...” He breathed with a bitter chuckle.

Speaking of which...John glanced back to the door with growing dread...he still had to get off the lowest floor and find Sherlock. The deer man's words came to his mind...reminding John he was in the deepest pits of this man made hell and there were other things there too. Things that would, without a doubt, kill him on sight. He repressed a shudder of fear, taking a deep breath...he could do it. He knew the way. Sherlock had told him how to get to the elevator, well...he'd told him how to get to the warhead room from the elevator. All John had to do was go in reverse...right?

John stepped back into the hall, the door locking quietly behind him as he stared down the long, empty, hall. He steeled his nerves and slowly started to walk ahead...the aches and pains were still there, but the queasiness seemed to have left as soon as he escaped the pocket dimension. He chalked it up to the smell. He reached the end of the long hall, staring back once into the shadows. John still desperately wished Sherlock would appear, but he knew the deer man was somewhere above him and he wouldn't have even the slightest idea where to look for John.

He swallowed a painful lump at the thought of Sherlock panicking...trying to find him. Shaking his head to dispel the image, he needed to focus so he didn't die before he could see Sherlock again. With a great deal of hesitation, John opened the door into the next hall...the silence once more wore on his nerves more than the initial chaos had. Carefully he looked around, then started to the left in hopes of following the directions Sherlock had mentioned, what now felt like, a lifetime ago...only in reverse order.

The man wanted to run, but he suspected any fast movements might attract unwanted attention. So, with great discomfort, he walked. Taking another left at the next hall. He was surprised, so far, that nothing was happening. Maybe he'd lucked out and all the other SCP's had fled to higher levels! Maybe he'd make it to the elevator without any trouble at all!

John took the next right...stopping dead in his tracks as soon as he stepped into the next hall. A figure stood several metres away, far enough that John wasn't in danger of being grabbed...but who knew how fast the...thing...was. Its back was to John, but its head was turned.

“Greetings.” The voice was crisp and light and extremely polite, but John wasn't comforted.

“U-uh...h-hello.”

The creature turned slowly to face John, allowing the man to get a good look at it. It looked like...a Plague Doctor. Dressed head to toe in a black robe...black gloves stained with blood...and a mask. A mask with a long pointed beak...it was exceedingly disturbing and John shifted back a step.

“No need to be afraid, my good fellow...I am a doctor.” It assured pleasantly, but there was an evilness to its tone.

“S-so am I.” John stammered, his pulse racing as he took another step back.

It seemed surprised, nodding as it stepped towards John slowly. “Ah, such a shame...do not fear...I will help you.”

John swallowed and shook his head, “Help me with what?”

“The _disease_. I sense it in you. You surely sensed it, if you are truly a doctor, and came to me for the cure.” It reached towards John, though it was no where near him.

“The disease?” John asked as he backpedalled, “What disease?”

It kept walking towards John, “Why, my fellow doctor, The Great Pestilence. What other disease could it possibly be?”

“ _The Plague...”_ John really should have seen that coming, even so he doubted there was any form of plague. “I...I swear I'm not...”

“Oh, but you are...I can sense it on you. Come...let me cure you.” John shook his head and turned sharply on his heels, fleeing from the horrible creature. “Stop resisting, I am here to cure you!”

“ _ **Like hell!”**_ John shouted as he raced down the halls away from it, taking a few quick turns before he looked back. It was no where in sight...obviously not one of the faster SCP's, but John had the distinct impression that he didn't want it touching him...at all. He continued to jog down another hall before he slowed, nervously looking over his shoulder in case he was wrong about it...

He was so distracted by looking back that he almost missed the unmistakable gurgle of SCP-106 coming through a wall ahead of him. It was as if, all the sudden, every SCP knew there was a helpless victim trapped in their maze and they were converging on their new toy to torment it! John all but screamed when he saw the black, decaying, body stepping out of the wall and start towards him with outstretched arms.

“N-no! No! Not again!” His voice going too shrill for his liking, but he didn't have time to think about it. Just turning and bolting back down the hall to escape SCP-106...who would probably outright kill him if it caught him again. Tears finally broke free from his steely resolve, cutting tracks down his grimy face as he ran. John could feel his body absolutely breaking down, he was pushing past every breaking point just to survive, but given how frequently he was being chased...he was likely to suffer a heart attack before too long! He fought to keep up the pace, wishing Sherlock was there to coax him along with his long tail and firm voice. John turned a corner sharply and nearly collided with the plague doctor again!

“Let me cure you!”

John screamed and narrowly avoided its grasping, bloody, hands by twisting away painfully and lunging, full tilt, down another hall. Sobs hitched unevenly in his chest as he panted with the effort it was taking to run. He kept running though, bolting through doors and down halls until he was thoroughly lost and exhausted. John staggered, his legs finally giving out, and hit the harsh floor with a sob.

“ _N-no...”_

He was dead. He was _so_ dead...looking up and expecting to see SCP-106 standing over him. Instead...his eyes were greeted with the dull, bloodied, doors of the elevator. John struggled to stand, but collapsed, dragging himself towards the doors in a final desperate attempt to reach _them_ before SCP-106 could reach _him_. He lifted a weary hand, flashing the key card over the sensor. The doors squealed open and he rolled inside, hitting a button to close the doors! Any button...he didn't care! Watching SCP-106 coming ever closer, until the doors rolled shut and the lift purred to life. Blackness started to appear on the doors where SCP-106 was trying to get to him...but the spot didn't get much larger than a dinner plate. John didn't know if it was because the elevator was something that the SCP couldn't go through...or because it suddenly started going up rather quickly. He didn't care, so long as SCP-106 wasn't coming in...wasn't able to get him...couldn't bring him back to the decaying hellhole that was its domain. The elevator stopped after several long moments of climbing, but John didn't get up. Just lying on his back on the elevator floor, panting and sobbing. He stayed there...sobbing...for what felt like hours, before he slowly reached a shaking hand up to wipe his eyes. Smearing grime and filth with his hands. He repressed another sob...what he wouldn't give for a shower!

Eventually, John managed to sit up. He felt like he was going to collapse, but he didn't have much choice. Pushing himself to his feet, leaning on the walls for support, before he opened the doors. The dim hall that greeted him was foreign to him...he didn't know where he was even in the slightest. John sighed, he needed to move...to find Sherlock, so he started to stagger down the dim hall. His hand braced on the wall...how long could he last like this? How long until his body just stopped working?

John's knees gave out again and he crumpled with a frustrated and tearful curse. “Damn it!” He gasped painfully and then struggled back to his feet. Stress was getting to him...his body was fatigued. He needed to rest, but without Sherlock to watch over him...John wouldn't risk it. It seemed to take forever, but John finally made it down the hall. Hitting the button and staggering inside. It took all his will power not to hit his knees again. The man took several long, slow, breaths...frowning as he realized he was in another decontamination room. He glanced to the screen to scrutinize the room, unsurprised at that point when he saw SCP-173 lingering in the mist by the door.

“God...I fucking hate you...” John murmured, looking around the room slowly and noticing a cracked gas mask on the floor. It was smeared with dried blood...more dried blood trailing out the door John had just entered through. It wasn't Sherlock's...he knew the deer man's blood wasn't red, so at least that put him a bit more at ease. Trying to gather some strength to push on through the room...he wasn't sure he could make it with the door timers...but he wasn't about to try and hobble back down the hall.

“Don't blink, John...” He reminded himself as he slipped the bloodied, cracked, mask over his face and moved towards the door. His hand hovered over the button, shaking violently with fatigue and fear. He could do this...it wasn't that far.

John swallowed and nodded, hitting the button and moving inside the room with the horrible statue that had been plaguing him ever since the breach began. It seemed to leer at him from within the black mist, mist which would seep into his cracked mask if he stayed in the room too long. So, John struggled to get by the statue, keeping his eyes fixed on it as he backed towards the other door. However...the door started beeping in warning much sooner than he anticipated, it was quicker than the other decontamination chambers! A bolt of desperation shot down his spine and he staggered backwards, tripping over his feet as he tried to make a desperate backwards leap for the closing door without taking his eyes off SCP-173...

He flailed his left arm behind him, catching it in the path of the closing door. Hydraulics didn't stop for flesh and bone and his arm made a sickening crunch as it was crushed! The door did stop short of completely removing his arm, however. Obviously there was some sort of fail safe installed for just such a case where someone might get caught in the closing door, it was probably supposed to open again. But John's door seemed to be malfunctioning...maintaining its crushing grip on his arm instead of releasing him.

As soon as he felt bones break...he screamed. His eyes almost shut, but he fought the impulse desperately, biting his lip instead. The pain was like molten lead and it rattled through his body mercilessly. Tears resurfaced and he breathed heavily through his nose, all the while struggling to keep his eyes on SCP-173. Not that it mattered...he was trapped in the room with it...and the gas was slowly seeping into his cracked mask...and he was going to blink eventually...

“F-fucking bastard!” John shouted at it as it stood there, facing the other door. _“Fucker!”_ He was so frustrated with himself...and in so much pain. He should have found another way! After narrowly escaping with his life in the basement level he'd thrown it away in the decontamination chamber! A sob burst from his lips, “Oh, Sherlock...I'm sorry...I can't...Sh-Sherlock...” The impulse to close his eyes growing...it wouldn't be so bad. He knew SCP-173 was quick, so...it would be fast...he probably wouldn't even feel it. Trying to convince himself to just shut his eyes...it was inevitable anyway. He couldn't keep his eyes open forever. Another round of burning, throbbing, pain raced through him and he screamed again, more sobs breaking from his quaking lips. _“Sherlock!”_ He shouted, _ **“Sherlock!”**_ Screaming the deer man's name until his voice cracked. “Sh-Sherlock...please...”

It was hopeless...Sherlock wasn't anywhere nearby. John was going to die...alone...in the sickly red room. He heaved a pathetic sighing sob and stared hard at SCP-173, “F-fine...you win...” His eyelids started to droop.

“ _John Watson! Don't you dare close your eyes!”_


	7. Death Is Near

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Really lets me know that people are being entertained to some degree! Sorry about my brief gaps between some chapters, it's not easy writing stories about a creepy game during the night...especially when I have to re-watch things to make sure I'm not missing something I want to add! Anyway I do hope you enjoy this next little chapter, it's not over yet so bear with me! AND...I know my grammar gets the better of me sometimes, you'll have to excuse my shortcomings, I'm only human and I make mistakes. I try to get them all but sometimes they get by me. I get a little excited and read by too fast sometimes. Anyhow, enjoy! Or don't...(but seriously if you've read this far and you're still not enjoying it then...wtf? :D)

_**“John Watson! Don't you dare close your eyes!”** _

John just about turned at the deep baritone voice, he never thought he'd hear again, coming through the opening in which his arm was trapped. Tears leaked painfully from his eyes and he trembled with relief. “Y-you found me...how?”

“I think a deaf man could have heard you screaming just a few moments ago, John.” Sherlock's voice moved away only a little, “Now, try not to fall when I open this door, it would look bad on my behalf to have you die before I finish rescuing you.” The deer man's words were crude...but comforting.

The man bit back a whimper of protest...he knew it was going to hurt like hell when Sherlock opened the door, but he kept his eyes on SCP-173. He heard the beep as the door activated, sliding open and releasing his mangled left arm. The pain was...indescribable. John couldn't hold back his scream, his vision going dim around the edges. But, he didn't blink. Furry, soft, limbs carefully hooked under his arms and pulled him backwards out of the room, the door beeped and slipped shut. At last, John closed his eyes as the pain racked him. He was carefully propped against a wall and the gas mask was carefully pulled away.

John sniffled painfully, “I can't...I can't believe you found me.” He murmured after a few painful seconds, opening his eyes to gaze into Sherlock's stunning blue ones.

“Did you think I was going to leave you?” The deer man asked gently as he turned his attention to John's lifeless left arm.

“No.” John breathed, “I just...Baskerville isn't exactly small and I could have shown up anywhere.”

“Or no where.” Sherlock chimed as he turned his concerned eyes back to John, “But...you're resilient and have a stubborn sense of duty. I knew if there was any chance you might have survived that you would be going to the lower level. I was merely a bit slower than I would have liked.”

“Stairs?” John questioned with a pained smile.

“They are quite bothersome... _stairs_...” Sherlock flicked his ears and his lips twitched into a subtle smirk, gesturing to a tattered looking umbrella tossed on the floor nearby. Clearly the deer man was using it as a crutch of some sort, meaning that he had an injury. One which John really wanted to look at, but he knew he couldn't do much with one arm mangled.

John shook his head and yelped loudly when Sherlock tentatively tried to shift the limb. “It's crushed.”

“Obviously. What can we do?”

“Nothing really...” Motioning to his tattered, filthy, jumpsuit. “Just tear off some and we'll make a sling...at least that way I won't bump it around and do more damage.” Exhaustion and pain slowly consuming him, but he was alright with that so long as Sherlock was there.

The deer man nodded after a moment, carefully tearing some stripes from the upper portion of the jump suit to make a crude sling. He gave John an apologetic look before taking up the mangled arm and settling it in the fabric, fastening the sling behind John's neck. John tried not to scream, but he couldn't contain a pained shout that tapered into a whimper. Sherlock tried to sooth him, stroking soft fingers on his neck and waiting out John's trembles of pain.

John moaned softly and took a deep breath, “O-okay...I'm...I'm okay.”

Sherlock nodded and gave his cheek a gentle caress, “Alright...let's get out of here. I'm sure you've had enough excitement to last a lifetime.” Reaching for John's good arm to gently help the man to his feet while he picked up the umbrella with his other hand.

The blonde man staggered slightly on shaking legs; his left arm still hurt terribly, but he found the pain was manageable with Sherlock back at his side. The deer man gave him a sweeping glance before he gently propped John's right arm over his shoulder, he seemed aware of John's nearness to collapse. It made sense, given that Sherlock was some sort of predatory creature, and John was extremely grateful for the help as they made their way back into the gloomy halls.

It was painfully slow going. John could hardly walk and Sherlock was using an umbrella for a crutch...or at least for the most part. John couldn't detect much of a limp, but he was exhausted and barely able to think around his own pain.  At least Sherlock seemed to have an idea about where he was going, though. John didn't ask questions then, comforted by the warmth of the furry body that helped him hobble down the long and dark halls; comforted by the familiar flicking of a tail against his legs reminding him that he was safe...or at least safer. They walked down only two halls, though, before John's legs completely gave out, nearly dragging both of them to the floor. Sherlock cursed at the unexpected weight, but managed not to drop John as he set the man down against the wall so he could rest.

“Sorry...” John murmured, “I'm sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head and paced away, “It's alright, John...just rest a moment. I'll keep watch.” He assured as he came to a stop in the middle of the hall and leaned on the umbrella casually. His posture was alert, both ears flicking to and fro like satellite dishes.

John smiled, but felt a knot of uncertainty as he watched the deer man. Something wasn't right...something felt wrong. He wasn't sure what, but there was something nagging in the back of his exhausted mind that was setting off warning signals. Maybe John was just anticipating the worst because trouble seemed to plague him every way he turned.

His brow furrowed slightly as he took a moment to observe Sherlock while the deer man stood calmly in the middle of the hall. His posture seemed stiff and unnatural. He hardly looked comfortable. Which was odd because John had always found Sherlock's posture remarkably relaxed and poised. He shifted, wincing as he accidentally bumped his arm, and resumed his observations of the deer man. Although Sherlock had shown him some affections at their reunion, it hadn't been what John expected. He'd anticipated something more...certainly after the way Sherlock had left him before he'd been dragged into the pocket dimension. And where was his scarf? It had become part of the deer man's charm...surely he wouldn't have left it somewhere? John's eyes travelled along Sherlock's long legs, seeking swelling or indication of the injury he claimed to have. There was nothing visible...no cuts or bumps of any kind.

The blonde man found his eyes drifting, with increasing worry, to Sherlock's left hand...the one which had been blackened with blood. A shudder went up his spine when he saw it was pristine and white as snow, which wasn't impossible, he supposed.  Sherlock could have cleaned it...somehow. Slowly, his eyes drifted towards Sherlock's ears, both were up and turning without any trouble. There was no trace of the blood from the ruptured eardrum...or the makeshift plug, which John knew he'd put in the ear some time ago.

Sherlock caught him staring and raised a questioning brow, “Is something the matter?”

John's mouth went dry and he swallowed hard, pressing back against the wall nervously. “How's your ear?” His voice barely above a whisper.

The deer man's face slowly fell, the emotions faded to a blankness that unsettled John to his very core. “What?”

“It was...ruptured...”

A darkness crept into the eyes that all but glared into his, _“Damn.”_ The creature hissed in a voice that was very unlike Sherlock's, it was superior and unpleasant.

John struggled to stand and flee, but his body refused to obey. He toppled onto his face with a cry of pain and then rolled onto his back to try and scoot himself away from the Sherlock-look-alike. The creature watched him with a superior sneer, shaking his head and scoffing. “Now, _now_ , John...you are just going to hurt yourself more if you try to run. And how far do you think you can get in the state you are in right now?”

“ _What_ have you done to Sherlock?” John demanded, frightfully, from he floor as he stared up at the creature pacing in the gloom.

“Oh, I can see why he likes you...” The Sherlock-look-alike murmured with a superior sneering tone...or was it disapproving?

John struggled to try and get back up, but all he could manage was to push himself back into a sitting position against the wall behind him. “Wh-what did you do to him?” His voice hard through the painful gasps. “If you hurt him—”

The creature scoffed, “Hurt him? Oh no, _never_. As much as I would love to beat my _brother_ senseless at times, it would be very unproductive.”

“B-brother?” John gaped, horrified as much as he was shocked.

The creature nodded, a tiny smirk caressing its lips.“Mycroft Holmes, the _**older**_ brother.” John desperately wanted to run, but all he could do was stare at Mycroft as he started to twitch and spasm. His face twisted with pain and his breath began to rasp, “You have no concept of how painful it is to look like this...” Bones snapped and groaned...muscles rippled and stretched. He was no longer as sleek as Sherlock, there was definite bulk to his shoulders and a stoutness to his legs. Long, sharp, claws ripped through the flesh of each fingertip...black blood dripping on the floor with audible plops. Mycroft's face was contorted and his voice was thin with pain, both magnificent antlers dropped from his head with a startling clatter. In their place new ones began to grow rapidly. Unlike Sherlock's, they were immaculate ivory...only blackened slightly where blood clung to them. The antlers were even more impressive than Sherlock's, they were intertwined over Mycroft's head. The points where sharp as  needles, intertwining and branching out in a terrifyingly impressive crown. They even grew towards his twisted forehead,  their sharp end points crossing each other.

His eyes had turned a nearly solid, soulless and evil, black. His tail lashed against the floor violently before starting to shrink and shrivel. It wasn't at all long like Sherlock's in fact it looked definitely more deer-like...albeit larger to accommodate a more humanoid body mass. His face remained largely similar to Sherlock's...too human with a flatter animal nose. But his fangs became much more prominent, jutting from his lips and glistening with saliva. Thick black and white fur began to slough off in piles, being rapidly replaced with a much more luxurious coat which was completely jet black. A thick mantle of stark white fur billowed from his neck and head, overthrowing the dark curls as it flowed over his collar bones and shoulders like some sort of mane. His fur was not tufted, as Sherlock's had been, but rather it was long in certain places...particularly on his forearms and the lower parts of his legs around his cloven hooves.

Mycroft panted faintly, rolled his shoulders back, and straightened with a few final pops and snaps issuing from his spine. The creature let out a sigh of relief, as if it had been a burden to appear as Sherlock. John just watched in mute terror, his mind completely blanketed with fear. Mycroft paid him no mind, bending over to retrieve something from he floor at his feet. John assumed it was a discarded antler, however, it appeared they too had changed into something they had not been moments ago. An eerily white and decidedly beast-like skull (lacking the lower jaws of course) with some smaller obsidian antlers. Intricate details had been carved into the bone, depicting some sort of creature that John couldn't name. It fit perfectly on the upper half of Mycroft's face, not blocking his black eyes or impeding his fearsome fangs. The skull itself displayed some fearsome dentition as well, making John wonder what kind of creature it had come from.

Calmly, Mycroft smoothed his hands through his thick mane, settling the fur particularly around the mask before he examined John. His expression was unreadable as he lifted a claw to his lips to lick the blood off in a casual manner. He seemed to be thinking, of what to do with the terrified man that was starting at him. John didn't know what to say or do, totally taken off guard by the sudden transformation. Could Sherlock do that as well? Mycroft didn't look like the sort of creature John should trust, not at all. He watched in complete silence until Mycroft started towards him slowly.

“H-how...?” John managed to squeak, making Mycroft pause a step.

The beast flicked his ears with amused irritation, “Surely you cannot be so dense...” His voice raspy, but no less arrogant. When John continued to stare with confusion, he sighed. “Sherlock must have told you something about our kind. I will assume you know what we prey on...” Raking John with a hungry glare, “Does it not make sense for us to be able to change our appearances to lure our prey closer? You can imagine how much of a chore it becomes when your dinner is always running away and pointing you out to various monster hunters...really very annoying. However, if we appear less threatening and more fantastical...well...the meals practically throw themselves at our feet.”

John trembled and pressed back against the wall, “How did you know...who I was?”

“Oh please, it does not take a genius to figure it out. My brother was running around shouting _'John Watson'_ and you were just bellowing _'Sherlock'._ The connection was obvious.” Slowly stalking closer, “He cares quite a bit about you it seems...but I cannot allow him to pursue his childish whims. You see, in our dimension...we are royalty. And Sherlock has been avoiding his duties. He has been trying to find some way to escape responsibility. That is why he fled to your mortal realm.”

“He was...hiding here?” John frowned, pressing further back against the wall as Mycroft slowly drew nearer.

The dreadful creature nodded, “So it would seem. It took me more than a few years to gain proper access to Baskerville so I could prepare to bring him home.”

“You're responsible for this? For the breach? For...for the break-ins? B-but...how?”

“You really are quite dull, John. Think about it.” Mycroft hissed, stopping to stand over John's splayed legs, his eyes glittered with malicious intent...but also with interest. As if he was eager to see if John could figure out the puzzle himself.

John swallowed hard, suppressing a shudder as he stared up into the horrific blackness of Mycroft's eyes. He struggled to think, if he could play this game...then maybe Mycroft wouldn't kill him outright. Maybe he could play for time and pray that Sherlock would find them, or for some other miracle.

“Tick-tock, John, time is running out...”

“I-I'm thinking! I'm thinking!” John snapped nervously, his shocked mind sparking to life and rifling through all the information he could remember about the breach and all the details leading up to his capture. Surely something had to be a hint, right? Mycroft was enjoying his distress, even though he wasn't smiling. But the pleasure of it seemed to drip from his very form...along with an overbearing sense of death.

The creature leaned closer to John, his fangs visible as he parted his lips to speak. “Shame...I really do enjoy playing with my food, but if you are going to bore me...”

“No! No, **wait**! I...I...” John scrambled for anything, pressing hard into the wall behind him to somehow avoid the sharp fangs headed for his neck, clamping his eyes shut and turning his head to the side. “D-Dr. Maynard!” He sputtered, feeling the hot breath on his skin, for a moment he thought he was going to feel fangs tearing into his flesh, but Mycroft paused.

“ _Go on.”_ Mycroft's voice hissed so close to John's face that he could feel tiny splashes of saliva on his cheek.

The blonde man exhaled shakily and opened his eyes, very unsettled by just how close Mycroft was. “Y-your voice...it's...it's the same as Dr. Maynard's. A-and seeing as you can...alter your appearance would it be a stretch to assume you...you were actually posing as Dr. Maynard? Y-you did say you had to work for years to get h-here...and there were other facilities. So...you had to be working with the radical group...th-the _Chaos Insurgency_. The one that was responsible for the break-ins in the other facilities...and...and you transferred here when they moved all the dangerous SCP's. Including your brother.”

Mycroft eased away from John's face with a smirk, “Very good, John, very good. Not perfect, but better than most of your kind.” He nodded, “Yes. I did in fact create Dr. Maynard. And I did work in the other facilities, however I found it would be impossible to merely sneak my brother out...and I suspected Sherlock would be more likely to point me out than anything. So, when I caught wind of this radical human group, I used it to my advantage. They provided the perfect opportunity to start moving all the dangerous and destructive SCP's into one building.” The creature turned to slowly walk back to his discarded umbrella, “Once they were accumulated, all it took was a little collaboration amongst monsters to create the perfect breach...or... _mostly perfect_.” Cutting a glance to John as he bent to retrieve the umbrella. “I did not anticipate your involvement. Were it not for you...I would have been able to take Sherlock back hours ago. Instead, I arrived to an _empty_ containment chamber.” Mycroft growled, “I did manage to track him down...but of course only after he had grown attached to you. Do you know what that means, John? It means that Sherlock has found an indefinite way to escape his duties. If he developed emotional bonds with a _prey item_...he would be seen as complete unfit to rule. He would be banished to your realm and there is nothing that Sherlock would love more than to be banished here.”

John shifted uncomfortably, tempted to try and make a break for it again...but he didn't know if he could outrun Mycroft. He doubted it given how fast Sherlock could run...and his brother looked quite a bit more capable. “Why not just take him...when I was in the p-pocket dimension?”

Mycroft folded his ears back as if he was irritated, it seemed to be a constant look for him. “Because...unless he sees you dead...he will not take his responsibilities. He will assume you are alive and he will search for you until he finds you. His bonds must be severed and he must feel the pain of it for the rest of his life so he will not be tempted to go out and find another mortal to fill the niche.” The beast flicked his long claws as he started back towards John, “Unfortunately for you...that means this is the end.”


	8. Forever Mine

Sherlock limped through the dark halls and shouted hoarsely, _“John! John?!”_ The only response he got, the only one he'd been getting for the past few hours, was the distraught sounding echoes of his own voice.

He still couldn't believe he'd lost John. He could still see the horror on the man's beautiful face as he was dragged into the floor by SCP-106. Sherlock had tried to reach him, but he'd been a fraction of a second too slow. After John had vanished, he'd spent nearly a full ten minutes staring at the dark spot where the man had disappeared through. He just stared at his outstretched hand with hatred and disgust, like it had betrayed him in some way. Eventually, Sherlock had managed to get to his feet...he had to find John.

But, after hours of searching, all he'd found was a way to hurt himself. He'd run over a grated floor, which his toes got caught in. He was lucky he hadn't broken his leg, but the sprain was bad...very bad. The joint between his toes, and the one above them, was swollen quite badly and he could hardly put any weight on the injured leg.

Sherlock continued to limp along yet another dark hall, leaning heavily on the wall for support. His breath rasped in his good ear and his tail flicked madly behind him. It was exhausting to try and drag himself around with a bad leg. He jabbed at the button for the next door viciously and bared his teeth in an irritated growl when he was met with another empty hall. _John couldn't be dead!_ He wouldn't believe it until he could see it for himself...even if he had to get SCP-106 to take him to the pocket dimension!

Sherlock took another limping step into the gloom before a scent caught his sensitive nose. A familiar scent...one that had his hackles rising. A growl issued low in his throat. _“Mycroft.”_ He spat the name with as much distaste as he could.

“ _Brother mine.”_ Mycroft's tone was sneering as he stepped calmly from the door frame, where he'd been hidden from view. He didn't even give Sherlock a glance, observing his lengthy claws with mild interest. “This little _venture_ of yours has gone on long enough.”

“I'm **not** going.” Sherlock grumbled through clenched teeth.

Mycroft sighed, cutting his brother a meaningful glance from under the gruesome skull mask. “Oh...you think so, do you? Why would you stay here? Do you have a reason? Something that frees you from your duty to your people?”

The way he spoke made Sherlock's ears snap back and his lips curl. “What did you do to him?Where is he?”

The elder Holmes brother lifted one ear with interest, as if he had no idea what Sherlock was talking about. “ _Who_ , Sherlock?”

Sherlock took a menacing, limping, step closer and his tail lashed behind him viciously. “Don't act like you don't know. _You found him._ You wouldn't risk me seeing you undisguised if you hadn't! Now, _ **where**_?!”

Mycroft's ear dropped and he turned slowly to face his brother, “Spoil sport.” He purred wickedly. “I can see why you picked him. Stubborn...loyal to a fault...a fighting spirit...relativity simple minded. _Like a pet._ Did you really think I would not figure it out? Sherlock...I am the _**smart**_ one, remember? You cannot hide anything from me...not even your pets.”

“I won't ask again...” Sherlock ground out, his fur bristling and a familiar tingle shooting down his spine. “Where is _John Watson_?”

“ **Dying** somewhere...maybe nearby, maybe not.” Mycroft shrugged slowly and ran his tongue over his fangs, “I did not kill him, Sherlock, but I did do him fatal harm. You understand why I did this. This is the only way. And while you might hate me forever...I have done you a _favour_.” Mycroft slowly strolled towards Sherlock, his mane swaying as he walked. It was flecked with crimson blood...blood that smelled of John. “He was not going to make it, nor were you. The humans are killing everything, or trying to, that exits the building. No questions asked. You are **not** invincible and your little pet had one foot on death's door from the very start of this venture. You were foolish to even suggest escape to him when you knew there would be only _blood._ ” Mycroft's ears flicked as he stepped before his brother, calmly staring him in the eyes. “You have a choice to make now, _brother._ ” His voice low and casual, “You can act on the rage and hatred you have burning for me right now and _maybe_ you can kill me... _ **or**_...you can find John Watson while he still draws breath...”

Sherlock glared silently at his brother, he was sorely tempted to throw himself at the pretentious bastard and rake him with claws and teeth until he was dead. But it would bring him little pleasure if it cost him any more time away from John. The blonde man was dying...his brother was right. Sherlock had known from the start that their escape attempt was doomed, but he'd foolishly been swept up by John's optimism and he'd dared to hope that they might survive. That he might have a chance to enjoy a life free from responsibilities and duties...to enjoy the blonde man at his side. He suppressed a shudder of anguish and shouldered past Mycroft with a growl, lashing his tail to catch around the foolish umbrella and wrench it from his brother's grasp. With a defiant flick, he tossed it against the wall and limped, at a pace, towards the ever stronger scent of John's blood.

His brother didn't stop him, just sighing and moving to retrieve the umbrella. “Childish, brother, very childish.” He commented, “Once you have finished I expect you to come home _directly_. I have a portal waiting in Dr. Maynard's office.”

“ _Your_ office, don't lie to me.” Sherlock snapped through a growl.

Mycroft paused, his ears perking slowly as he straightened to watch his brother limping down the hall. “Do not do anything foolish, Sherlock!”

In response, Sherlock turned and offered up an obscene gesture he'd learned from the human guards, spitting John's own curse word venomously. “ **Fuck** you, _brother mine.”_ A growl issuing from his chest before he turned and slammed the button for the door so violently that the device cracked and fizzled as the door slammed open...and stayed open.

Sherlock almost expected Mycroft to try and stop him, but it seemed his obscenities had put off his brother for the moment. Or maybe Mycroft assumed Sherlock would just come along like he was told. The deer man wasn't interested in that, he was interested in finding John.

As it turned out...finding the blonde man wasn't as difficult as he imagined. Halfway down the hall Sherlock found a pool of cooling blood, but no body. Instead there was a trail where John had clearly dragged himself along. He was still fighting even though he was grievously wounded. Sherlock took larger hopping steps, his eyes fixed on the trail and his good ear perked for any sound. John had managed to pull himself through a set of doors and into another dark hall...

Sherlock hurriedly hit the button and all but lunged through, ignoring the pain that stabbed up his leg with every step he took. Ahead, in the middle of the hall, was a body on the floor. For a moment Sherlock thought he was too late, but a horrible rattling breath caught his ear. It wasn't a good noise, but it meant John was still alive...for the moment.

“ _ **John!”**_ Sherlock staggered as he limped to the body of the blonde man, who could no longer drag himself along the floor. Blood was pooling around him slowly and his body was quaking as he struggled to breath.

Sherlock crumpled, his poor John...

John looked like hell. His beautiful hair was streaked with grime and stuck to his sweaty forehead. His face was filthy and bloodied...he'd impacted a wall with it rather hard apparently. Most of his body seemed covered with blood or black filth and he stunk of decay and death. He could see the puncture marks from his brother's claws...they'd gone through vital organs in his abdomen and into one side of his chest. Deliberate placement to make the man die...but die slowly and painfully. And his left arm...Sherlock could tell it had been savagely mangled by one of the hydraulic doors. He wanted to ask so many things, wanted to say something to the man that stared up at him as best as he could...but what could he say? John was...not going to make it. Finally, he reached out and gently stroked soft fingers on John's cheek, leaning over and pressing his face close to John's with a subtle sob hitching in his throat. He could feel the cold chill of the body that was draining of life before him. He could feel the tremble of exhaustion and desperation.

“R-rea-really...y-you...?” The blonde gasped, blood trickling from his lips. He sounded like he was choking, his breathing was erratic and his eyes were glazed with pain.

Sherlock nodded, feeling a stinging pain in his chest as he tenderly kissed John's brow. “Really me.” Suspecting John had been fooled by Mycroft's cheap trick, so he turned his head to allow John to see his ear that was still plugged. “John...I...I'm sorry.” He whispered.

John grunted, coughing up blood with a painful sounding gasp. Even though he was in extreme pain, the blonde man smiled. It was small and pain filled, but it was genuine. “T-turned o-off...K-Kill...”

Sherlock nodded, offering a tiny shaking smile of his own. “I knew you could do it, John.” Sitting up and hesitantly starting to roll John into his arms, cradling the bloodied body in his furry arms to try and comfort the man.

The blonde man made a horrible sound as he was moved, tears appeared on his cheeks, but he relaxed into the furry arms and against the warm chest with the greatest of pleasures. “Kn-know...what...y-you a-are...”

The deer man pressed his cheek against the top of John's head as his throat constricted and tears welled in his eyes. “T-tell me when we get out of here...that was our deal...”

“N-not...ca-can't...”

“You _can_...you _have_ to!” Sherlock's voice cracking on a half sob, clutching John gently.

“D-dying... _d-doctor._..I...I know...” John gagged and struggled to breathe, his good hand shaking violently as he struggled to fight off the endless waves of pain. “Y-you're...m-m-min-ine...Sher...Sher...Sh-Sherlock. _Mine._ ”

The deer man's heart broke, he wanted nothing more than that. To be John's. He took up John's hand and gently squeezed it. “And you're mine...forever.” He murmured into John's hair before he dipped lower, his lips hovering over John's as he stared into his unfocused eyes. Pleading...pain filled...lovely eyes. Sherlock felt the first of his tears fall, dampening his fur as he shuddered around a sob. His tail slowly slipped around John's neck, making the blonde shudder.

“Forever mine...John Watson...” Sherlock breathed against his lips, claiming the gasping man's lips for a long gentle kiss. He could taste John's blood...taste John's death...taste John's pain. He felt John tremble against him, struggling to keep his lips to Sherlock's until the bitter end, as he cinched his around John's neck. The dying man didn't struggle against him. Tears leaked from glazing eyes...gratitude and love and adoration shimmering in their depths before Sherlock's tail tightened one final time.

The snapping of vertebrae made Sherlock quake. He shut his eyes as John's lips fell away from his and the trembling body went limp in his arms. He felt...utterly empty...his emotions ripped a raw hole in his chest and left him shaking. Sherlock maintained his cradling hold on the body for a moment before he let it go, gently placing it on the floor. The taste of blood and John still in his mouth.

Mycroft approached from the gloom, of course he wouldn't trust Sherlock to come along. He stopped nearby, but not too close. Giving Sherlock his space...unwilling to risk his brother attacking him in a fit of rage. But Sherlock felt nothing...still unable to open his eyes to look at the body his tail was still wrapped around the neck of.

“Come...time to leave...”

Sherlock cast Mycroft a tearful glance as he opened his eyes to stare at his brother, then he looked back to John's lifeless form.

“No.” He breathed, “I won't be going home...not now...not ever. You made a mistake...he was no pet.” He caressed John's cheek one last time, bitterly savouring the last traces of heat. “He was my soul mate.” The words stung his heart and he choked on a painful sob, his hands shaking as he concluded what he had to do. “This is... _the_ _end_.” And in an instant, Sherlock dug his lengthy fangs into his wrist. He tore flesh from bone, hardly recognizing the pain. A chunk of fur made him gag and the blood was bitter. It sprayed into his eyes as he tore the arteries savagely, making sure he was beyond the point of Mycroft being able to save him, or stop him. He tore into the other wrist just as savagely when his brother reached him. But Sherlock knew it was much too late. His black blood pooled around him, mixing with John's own red blood, and he collapsed against John's lifeless form. Whispering one last time as darkness consumed him. “Forever mine...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all over. This was how I planned it from the start and this was how it was always going to be. Hopefully you enjoyed it, it was meant to be a bit of a tear jerker and a thriller. So I hope that it made you sniffle a little and I know it creeped a few of you out. Thanks for reading it all the way through.


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